


All I Want for Krampus Is You

by OurLadyofStardust, Storygirl82



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Abduction, Adult Content, Adult Language, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Consensual Kink, Consensual spanking, Crack, Dom/sub Undertones, European Folklore, F/M, Fae Magic, Fantasy Fulfillment, Fluff and Crack, Jareth Is a Manipulating Jerk..., Krampus Legend, Light Angst, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Love Confessions, Lust, Mildly Dubious Consent, Morally Ambiguous Character, Obsession, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Possessive Behavior, Power Play, Romance, Shameless Smut, Smut, Some Humor, Some Plot, Some Suspense, Trashy Fun, but he does love her, dominant Jareth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:55:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 61,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21811189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OurLadyofStardust/pseuds/OurLadyofStardust, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Storygirl82/pseuds/Storygirl82
Summary: It’s Christmastime, and Jareth has decided that Sarah Williams has been more naughty than nice. Much to his chagrin, not only has the object of his desire recently been on a date with a mortal man, but she’s considering a second!Unfortunately, Sarah is willful and defiant as ever and is gallingly intent on ignoring the flame that’s been crackling between her and himself for over ten years. What’s a snubbed Goblin King to do? Seize an opportunity presented by the timely telling of an old European holiday folktale, of course.
Relationships: Jareth/Sarah Williams
Comments: 119
Kudos: 227





	1. The Story and the Visitor

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a fairly short fic. For those of you that read Not an Ordinary Girl, this story is not at all connected to it. However, Jareth and Sarah’s personalities in this fic will be similar to their NAOG counterparts. Honestly, that’s just how I see them in my head and it’s difficult to write them any other way now. Also, keep in mind, this is going to be kind of a hard one to classify. Think one-part crackfic to two-parts light kink erotica. lol
> 
> Also, a big huge thank you to the lovely OurLadyofStardust for coming up with the concept and title of this fic, as well as collaborating on it with me. You’re brilliant, girly. <3
> 
> -Storygirl82

* * *

_He was her dark fairytale and she was his twisted fantasy. And together they made magic._

_-F. Scott Fitzgerald_

* * *

_~Christmas Eve - Nyack, New York, 1996~_

There were many things Sarah loved about coming home for the holidays: the drool-inducing aroma of cloves, cinnamon, and vanilla goodness, as Karen’s traditional German baked goods were pulled fresh from the oven. The soft, sentimental strains of _Silver Bells_ playing low on the stereo in the living room, while a burning yule log crackled in the fireplace. The sound of Toby’s delighted laughter ringing throughout the house. Yup, that stuff was high up on the list of her holiday favorites for sure. Karen’s usual interrogation about her love life, however, did **not** make the list.

“Are you sure you have to think so hard about giving Travis a call? You said it yourself, you had a nice time when you two went out last Friday. I have to say, I think it was big of him to tell you that you could think about it when you told him you weren’t sure about going out with him again. Most guys would have just written you off. Playing hard to get really isn’t that appealing, Sarah. I don’t care what Cosmo—or whatever magazines you young women are reading these days—tell you.” Karen frowned as she plucked her recently cooled _vanillekipferl_ cookies from their baking tray and began to arrange the powdery crescents on a festive red and white snowflake patterned platter.

Sarah sighed and shifted on her stool at the kitchen counter, tightly gripping her Waterford crystal glass that contained more than enough boozy eggnog to assist in taking the edge off her simmering irritation towards her stepmother (thank god). Instead of answering, Sarah took three greedy, unladylike gulps—eagerly welcoming the pleasant burn of brandy-laced cream, as the eggnog slid down her throat. 

Karen gave her a criticizing lift of her blond brow. 

“Go easy on that. That’s your second cup. I’ll get an earful from Oma if you’re drunk during dinner. I’m sure I’m already going to hear about how my vanillekipferl isn’t as good as hers, again. Never mind that I always use the **same** almond meal and vanilla sugar she uses and brings with her from Germany every year, but no, they never taste right to her. I’m beginning to understand why my parents just **had** to take that cruise to Cancun, instead of doing our usual get-together this year.” Karen rolled her eyes as she finished transferring the cookies over to the snowflake platter, wiping her hands free of errant powdered vanilla sugar on the sides of her festive Christmas tree print apron.

“Yeah, must be tough. Relatives giving you a hard time about trivial stuff is a real drag.” Sarah shot her stepmom a hard look as she licked her lips clean of any remaining traces of eggnog.

“Now, don’t be like that,” Karen tsked, “I was only bringing up Travis because I care about you and want to see you end up with a nice guy. That Kevin was no good, I always thought so. I’d just like to see you with someone who will treat you right. Is that really so bad?”

Oh, great…now they were on the subject of her cheating scumbag of an ex… **again.**

_Merry-freaking-Christmas to me…_

Sarah let out another prolonged sigh. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate you trying to set me up and trying to help me get back out there. You’re right, Travis is nice, and you know I love his mom. I mean, Olivia has been your best friend for ages, and you know I see her as an aunt…but I’m not sure if Travis and I really click in a romantic sort of way. I think I’ll always see him as a cousin or brother-type. There just isn’t a spark.”

“Well, sometimes these things take a little time. It’s only been a few months since Kevin. Maybe you’re still too gun-shy to feel the spark just yet…and the last time you and Travis were in each other’s lives doesn’t count. You two were just kids then. Try to get to know the adult Travis a bit before you go deciding there’s nothing there,” Karen insisted, turning her attention to the tray of _nürnberger lebkuchen_ (German gingerbread cookies) resting on the stovetop behind her. “At least give the poor guy another shot. It wouldn’t kill you, would it?”

Sarah inwardly groaned. Her stepmom was like a dog with a bone when it came to certain things. The incorrigible woman had gone and settled on the idea of her and Travis being an item, and Sarah knew it was going to be about as easy as trying to baptize a cat to get her to come off it. She took three more gulping swallows of eggnog, nearly draining the glass. 

Yeah…okay…so maybe it wouldn’t kill her to agree to just one more date with Travis. So, he’d yet to make her feel tingly in her lady-bits or make her swoon like a heroine in a bodice ripper…so what? Just because she didn’t feel that stuff with him didn’t mean they couldn’t go to a movie or go get a drink sometime. It wasn’t like she didn’t enjoy Travis’s company. He was a good listener, funny, and kinda cute… in a cookie-cutter, preppy, J-Crew sort of way. 

Who knew, maybe Karen was right and all that tingly nether region, heart-fluttering, breath-stealing stuff would come later. Maybe her stepmom really was onto something for a change. Maybe she **was** just messed up because of Kevin. No, strike that—she was **definitely** messed up! 

With an inward wince, Sarah reminded herself of all the X-rated dreams she’d been having recently…about a certain leather-wearing, crystal-juggling, baby-stealing king. That could only mean she was in a bad way, because why would anyone in their right mind fantasize (even subconsciously) about riding the Goblin King like a pony at the fair?! He’d kidnaped her brother, forced her to run a death maze, and had drugged her with a magic peach…not to mention all the emotional manipulation BS.

_“Just fear me, love me, do as I say, and I will be your slave.”_

She trusted Jareth about as far as she could throw him, especially with all the random, shady drop-ins. As if stealing her brother and trying to trap her in a crystal bubble world wasn’t bad enough, Jareth had taken to randomly invading her personal space every now and again, over the last ten years. The inconsiderate, sexy jerk!

He’d show up at the oddest times—once when she was studying for finals (six months after the Labyrinth run incident) and once right after high school graduation. There were also dozens of visits throughout her college years at Sarah Lawrence, as well as a couple of occasions shortly after she’d graduated and moved to the city. There had even been a few after she’d landed her job as a drama teacher at Trinity School. 

The visits (if you could call stalking and barging in where he wasn’t wanted _“visits”_ ) were always much the same. Jareth would just appear out of nowhere in a poof of glittering light (which was so over-the-top it was almost funny) and demand to know what she was doing. Sarah would then tell him to screw off, which he’d blatantly ignore, then they’d end up talking for a bit (despite her better judgment). 

Sarah would then start feeling things she really should know better than to feel, but her damn heart (and raging hormones) always seemed to have other ideas. Then she’d all but melt at his British-like accent, his intense mismatched stare, and the way he’d say her name with that funny little lilt at the end—as if he enjoyed the taste of it on his tongue.

Nothing ever happened during these little drop-ins of Jareth’s though—nothing but a few brushes of the Goblin King’s hand, as he’d tuck an errant strand of her hair in place behind her ear…or a condescending _boop_ on her nose when he was being especially smug. Yet there had been quite a few near-kisses—at least that’s what Sarah had thought they’d been—times when Jareth’s eyes would go heavy-lidded, and he’d lean in close. The smell of him would invade Sarah’s senses—leather, amber, and magic. Did magic even have a smell??? If it did, it most definitely smelled like Jareth, Sarah decided.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, as one chose to look at it), the supposed near-kisses had always been interrupted. Her roommate would come home at the wrong time, the phone would ring, or a car alarm would randomly go off, startling Sarah, then she’d blink, and Jareth would be gone. It was for the best, she’d told herself, despite the near crushing disappointment she was almost shocked to feel each time. One didn’t go messing around with the Goblin King if they really wanted a drama-free, normal existence—which she did…she was almost certain of it.

Besides, Jareth’s visits (or intrusions rather) had always been kinda weird. He’d always seemed like he’d been waiting for something, almost impatient—an unnerving, restless energy all but wafting off him like bad cologne. What that had been all about, Sarah hadn’t a clue, and it seemed like it was fated to forever remain a mystery because it had been almost two years since she’d seen him last…if one didn’t count her recent porno-worthy dreams, in which the Goblin King was always the star.

Not that she missed Jareth or anything, because she **didn’t.** She also wasn’t disappointed that he hadn’t resumed popping in on her after she had ended things with Kevin, which Sarah may or may not have thought was the reason for his continued absence. Nope, she was just fine with a Goblin King-free life. She preferred it that way, she told herself…even if a tiny little voice at the back of her mind whispered that she was a bald-faced liar.

“Ya know what Karen? You’re right. I should give Travis a fair shake. I’ll call him after Christmas. I don’t want to interrupt his time with his family,” the words came rolling right off Sarah’s eggnog-coated tongue before she could second-guess them.

She needed to officially move on—from Kevin and Jareth both. It was time.

“Oh, good!” her stepmom beamed, and Sarah could all but see visions of future grandbabies dancing in Karen’s eyes.

_Great…what did I just get myself into?_

As if her thoughts had some sort of inexplicable sway over the universe, there came a sudden dull thump from outside—making Sarah instantly straighten from her slouch, her pulse fluttering, and the fine hairs on the back of her neck prickling. Why in the hell did she feel a weird mix of apprehension and excitement? It was just a random noise…

“What was that?” she asked, shoving her near-empty glass aside, and moving towards the back door on the other side of the kitchen before she could talk herself out it.

A backward glance at Karen informed Sarah that her stepmother was pretty much unconcerned. Karen only shrugged, proceeding with transferring the puffy brown, delicious-smelling disks that were her nürnberger lebkuchen, to a platter shaped like a laughing Santa head. 

“It’s probably just someone shutting their car door a little too hard. It’s Christmas eve. Visitors are coming and going all over the neighborhood,” her stepmom reasoned.

Undeterred by Karen’s theory, Sarah threw open the back door, sending a merciless blast of cold air buffeting through the toasty kitchen. A jittery sort of energy pulled at Sarah, which she didn’t quite understand. Why was her heart suddenly thudding a bruising rhythm against her ribcage? Why was there a shivery coiling of anticipation low in her abdomen? It was probably like Karen said—just a visitor shutting a car door. So, why was her body going all wonky and high-alert on her? Maybe she’d had just a little too much eggnog.

Pulling her arms inside her burgundy mohair sweater and hugging them tight to her chest for warmth, Sarah tentatively stepped out onto the snow-caked back deck—the soles of her suede boots making a muffled crunch on the frozen powder beneath her feet. The rich, smokey scent of burning wood, from neighboring chimneys, hung thick in the air. If she hadn’t been so gripped by the odd tension that had inexplicably settled over her, Sarah might have taken a moment to savor the smell she had fondly associated with Christmastime since her childhood. 

The sun had set over an hour ago—the dim glow of the porch light providing frustratingly piss-poor illumination, as she squinted uselessly out into the obscuring, shadowy cover of the night. 

“Hello? Anyone out here?” Sarah called out into the gloom.

Of course, her stupid overactive imagination just **had** to conjure an image of the Goblin King stepping from the darkness and into her small circle of light. Dammit, why did her pulse race even harder at that idea? She was shivering…and Sarah wasn’t entirely sure it was from the frigid bite of the night air. She shook her head as if trying to shake the notion of a sudden Jareth appearance right out of her skull…and the unbidden excitement she wanted very much not to feel, right along with it.

_Don’t be a moron, Williams. He’s not here, and you don’t want him to be either…_

Still, Sarah’s gaze darted all about, and when it snagged on a set of boot tracks imprinted in the snow, just in front of her, her breath froze within her lungs. The prints started inside the faint circle of the porchlight and trailed out into the jet-black darkness, beyond Sarah’s line of sight. Goddammit! She almost hated herself for the soft gasp of giddy anticipation that snuck past the seam of her lips and puffed out on a little white cloud of heated breath, into the chilly night air. 

“Hel-hello?” Sarah tried again, her pulse pounding in her ears so loud that she doubted she’d hear a response if one came.

None came. She only stood there, shivering, feeling like an absolute idiot. The feeling only intensified when Sarah looked down again to find the powder of the snow in front of her completely undisturbed—not a single print to be found.

“What the hell?” she muttered to herself, blinking and rubbing her eyes. “There were boot prints…I could have sworn there were!” 

Yup. Karen had been right. She’d had too much eggnog. Her imagination hand gone and run away with her. No, Sarah corrected herself—her imagination had gone on a full-out rampage, summoning up a specter of her past and reimagining him as some sort of romantic hero. Oh God…it was just too sad. Now she was in dire need of a good sulk at how pathetic she felt, getting all breathless at the idea of the Goblin King lurking around.

_Smooth, Williams. Real smooth…_

“For Heaven’s sake, Sarah! What are you doing out there? You don’t even have your coat on. Get back in here before you catch your death! I told you it was just a car door.” 

Sarah whirled around to see Karen illuminated in the bright orange-gold glow of the kitchen doorway, hands on her hips.

“Sorry…thought I saw…something…” Sarah muttered sheepishly, feeling the instant heated rush of embarrassment burn bright in her cheeks, as she pushed her now trembling arms back through the sleeves of her sweater.

“No more nog for you, young lady.” Karen gave her a concerned frown, stepping aside to let her pass back into the house.

“Yeah, I think I’m going to have to agree with you there.” Sarah sighed in defeat, pausing just past the kitchen’s threshold to wipe the snow-wetted bottoms of her boots on the matt.

“Come on, help me take these cookies out to the living room. It’ll be another forty minutes until my roast is done, and Oma gets even crankier than usual when her blood sugar dips.” Karen shut the door behind them, quickly crossing to the cookie-laden platters resting on the marble countertop.

Trying to ignore the lingering feeling of disappointment that sat heavy, like a lead-dipped stone in her gut, Sarah forced a tight-lipped smile on her face. She snatched up the snowflake platter of vanillekipferl and headed to the living room, where the rest of the family was gathered. The scene that greeted her was almost worthy of a Christmas card. 

A fire danced merrily in the hearth—casting a warm, amber glow on the smiling occupants of the dimly lit room. Toby and her dad sat around the coffee table, engrossed in a game of Chinese checkers. Her dad’s brother (Uncle Alan) and his wife (Aunt Deborah) sat all snug at one end of the couch, arms around each other. Their fourteen-year-old daughter (Cousin Mallory) was sprawled across the loveseat, laughing at something Toby had said. Karen’s Oma (or _Uroma_ , as she and Toby called her—German for great grandmother) sat in a leather wingback chair by the fireplace, knitting what appeared to be the start of a hunter-green scarf.

The lights from the Christmas tree cast jewel-toned speckles across the walls and a stacked heap of presents, all wrapped up in shiny silver and gold paper, were piled beneath its tinsel-adorned boughs. Garlands of real evergreen were strung up here and there, filling the living room with the fresh, wintery aroma of spruce…because Karen didn’t do any of that _“tacky, fake stuff_.”

Bing Crosby crooned _White Christmas_ from the stereo speakers and as if on cue, a sugar sprinkling of powdery snowflakes gently drifted in front of the large bay window—backlit by the pale-yellow glow of the streetlights outside. It was all so picturesque; one could almost drown in the cheesy holiday cliché of it all, Sarah thought with a small, fond smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. 

She had no genuine complaints, though. Sarah knew that if she had taken her mom up on her offer to fly her out to St. Bart’s (to join her mom and hubby number three for the holidays), she would have dearly missed the usual Williams family Hallmark-esque cheese-fest. A white sand beach and palm tree Christmas, with Linda and _Doctor Doug_ (as she liked to call her new stepdad) drinking their weight in tropical cocktails, just wouldn’t have been the same. 

“Here you go, Uroma.” Sarah smiled over at Karen’s grandmother, as she sat down the platter of vanillekipferl at the end of the coffee table and plucked up a bright red paper napkin from the stack that had already been set out, prior to her and Karen’s retreat to the kitchen.

Sarah plucked two of the powdery crescent cookies from the platter, placing them on the napkin, then set them down on the small end table next to the elderly woman’s chair, not wanting to disturb her knitting. 

_“Danke, liebchen.”_ Uroma’s deeply lined mouth lifted in a wide, denture-flashing smile—setting down her knitting just long enough to give Sarah’s hand a fond squeeze. Yet Uroma made no move to touch the cookies, Sarah noted with a repressed snort of amusement.

There wasn’t any actual blood relation between Sarah and the little old German woman, with her being from Karen’s side. However, shortly after Karen and Sarah’s dad had married, and Karen’s grandmother had come for that first Christmas—she had taken one look at Sarah and had proudly declared her _"urenkelin"_ (great-granddaughter). Sarah didn’t mind; she was rather fond of the old spitfire. Sure, Uroma could be a little too blunt and picky at times, but she was, overall, sweet, and Sarah thought of her as family—shared blood or not.

“You should eat one, Oma. We don’t want your blood sugar to get too low." Karen sat down her platter of gingerbread and nodded towards the two crescent cookies Sarah had sat aside on the end table.

“Ach,” Uroma grumbled, taking up her knitting once more - needles clacking out an agitated rhythm. “Zey never taste right. You alvays put somezing new in zem. I do not like it.”

Karen let out a prolonged, put upon sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. “We go over this every year, Oma. I always make them exactly as you do. If you don’t like them so much, then make them yourself. Be my guest,” Karen huffed.

“ _Nein._ You are ze hostess. You vill bake ze cookies,” Uroma insisted with a resolute nod of her silver head.

“For crying out loud, Oma. Then at least have a gingerbread.” Karen motioned to the other cookie platter.

“ _Nein danke._ I am fine vaiting until dinner,” Uroma replied stubbornly.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake…” Karen rolled her eyes, and Sarah bit back a laugh. “I’ll be in the kitchen, checking on the roast if anyone needs me…I’ll probably _check_ on that bottle of merlot in the fridge, while I’m at it,” her stepmom muttered and hurried out of the room.

“I like the cookies, honey!” Robert called after her, plucking up a vanillekipferl and taking a zealous bite for good measure, sending a small cascade of powdered vanilla sugar raining down upon the coffee table, as well as the star-shaped playing board in front of him.

“Use a napkin, please!” Karen called from the kitchen as if instinctively anticipating the mess her husband was currently making.

With a bemused tilt of her head, Sarah watched her dad fumble to clean up the dusting of powder with a spare napkin. He swore low under his breath as he succeeded only in worsening the smear of vanilla sugar all over Karen’s antique Chippendale coffee table. Toby, knowing an opportunity when he saw one, took advantage of their father being distracted, and moved his peg in multiple jumps over several empty spaces, which was totally against the rules.

 _Little turd…_ Sarah thought, with a small snort of laughter.

She was just about to open her mouth and out Toby’s less than sportsman-like behavior when Uroma’s bun-topped head whipped over in her kid brother’s direction, age-clouded blue eyes narrowing in a raptor-like glare. 

“Tobias! No cheating!” Uroma snapped, in a no-nonsense tone that Sarah supposed might have even had Jareth shaking in his kingly boots.

Ugh…why the hell did she have Jareth on the brain tonight?!

“You know vat happens to bad little boys at Christmastime? Krampus comes to take zem to ze under-vorld.” Uroma pointed a gnarled finger at the now red-faced eleven-year-old, who seemed more embarrassed for having been caught than anything else.

“And he’ll come and beat me with birch sticks…yeah, yeah…” Toby grumbled, “You’ve told me before…a lot.”

People from Central Europe were pretty hardcore, Sarah mused. Kids in other parts of the world were told that if they weren’t good, they’d get coal in their stocking. Children in Central Europe were told a goat-demon would come and whip them with a switch, stuff them in a bag, and take them to Hell. It was no wonder that Uroma was such a tough nut, growing up around that sort of atmosphere was bound to influence a person.

With an inward wince, Sarah remembered her own child-snatching story (told ten years ago to a crying baby Toby) and how it had led to **actual** child-snatching by a goblin king. Hopefully, Toby wouldn’t develop too many complexes as he got older. At least he didn’t seem to remember anything about their Labyrinth ordeal.

_So far, so good. I guess…_

“Oh, that reminds me, tell your Krampus story again, Lena! The one about the boy from your village,” Cousin Mallory piped up, green eyes shining with macabre excitement.

 _Teenagers…if it’s bizarre or creepy they love it,_ Sarah thought with a small smile and shake of her head.

“Not this again,” Toby grumbled but shut right up after their father shot him his signature _‘Keep it up and you’ll be grounded, young man’_ look. “Sorry, Uroma,” her brother added with genuine contrition.

“Go on, Lena. Tell it if you want,” Robert encouraged, having gotten the vanilla sugar crisis somewhat under control.

“Vell…let me see…” Uroma sat her knitting down in her lap, tapping her liver-spotted chin thoughtfully as if trying to recall just where to start—as if she didn’t tell the same story almost every year. “I vas about ze age of Toby. My dear friend, Mila, had an elder brozer, called Erich.”

Sarah snatched up a napkin and a nürnberger lebkuchen, settling herself on the sofa, on the opposite end from her aunt and uncle. Uroma’s Krampus story was becoming something of a family Christmas tradition. Sarah wasn’t sure why, but it almost seemed essential to the holidays now, like watching _It’s a Wonderful Life_ for the umpteenth time—but instead of angels getting their wings, it involved a goat-demon absconding a brat. 

_Ah, fine Christmas entertainment in the Williams house…at least we’re unique._

She’d stay and listen, then go see if Karen needed any help with dinner, Sarah told herself as she nibbled at the richly spiced, cakelike cookie in her hand—the tastes of cinnamon, nutmeg, coriander, and cardamom (with just a hint of a citrus bite from the added lemon peel) exploding on her tongue. Uroma was just needlessly picky; all of Karen’s cookies were **amazing.**

“Erich vas a very bad boy. He ran around with criminals and thieves and loved to make trouble. He vas only zirteen years old, but he practically terrorized ze people of my village. Milia and I vere very afraid of him. He vould often pull our hair or slap our faces if ve so much as looked at him. His parents were veak people and were afraid of him as vell. If vey tried to punish him, Erich would retaliate. So, he vas allowed to run wild,” Uroma began.

There was shifting all around the room as everyone sat a little straighter, ears perked. They’d all heard the story before, many times. There was just something about the way Uroma told it that made a person want to hang on to each and every word she uttered - as if it were the very first time the story had ever been told.

“One year, a few days before Christmas, Erich did ze unthinkable. He ransacked the village church. He broke or stole every-ving he could get his hands on. He even took ze sacramental vine. His mozer was heartbroken. She varned Erich that Saint Peter vould punish him. Erich only laughed. He did not believe. Then Christmas day came. Erich vas novere to be found. His parents looked everyvere—no trace of Erich. Zey never found him. To zis day, no one knovs vat happened to him. Except for Milia…” Uroma paused for dramatic effect, as always.

“Oh, I **love** this part…” Mallory murmured.

“Milia svore to me, that the night Erich vent missing she had voken up to a noise in ze house. Hoofbeats, she told me. Milia said zat ven she heard ze noise, she vent to peek out of her room. It vas dark and she did not see much, but she svore she saw a tall, dark figure, in a black cloak, leaving Erich’s room. She said that the figure drug a large bag behind him. Everyone in ze village had their ideas about vat had happened. The most common idea vas zat Erich had angered ze vrong people. He ran around vith criminals, so it vas likely. Some thought it might be a village man, pushed too far after ze desecration of ze church. Milia and I…we vere convinced that Saint Peter had sent Krampus to take Erich. To zis day, a part of me still believes it to be true,” Uroma finished and as usual, there was a long pause where no one said anything—a shivery foreboding feeling permeating the previously cheery room.

“So cool…” Mallory breathed, something like dark awe shining in her eyes.

“You have a very morbid sense of what’s _cool_ , young lady.” Aunt Deborah laughed.

The previous flow of conversation then continued on—Toby and Robert deciding to play another game—Uncle Allen and Aunt Deborah discussing all the things they needed to get done around their house when they went back home to Connecticut, after the holidays—Mallory prodding Uroma for more stories about her childhood, preferably creepy ones. Yet, Sarah only sat there for a moment, thoughts of vengeful demon goats and clomping hooves lingering in her head like an annoying guest long overstaying their welcome at a party.

No matter how many times Sarah had heard Uroma’s story, it never failed to send a cold shiver creeping down the expanse of her spine. Why did she insist on listening every year when it always put her a bit on edge afterward? 

_You’re such a hopeless wuss, Williams…_

She didn’t actually believe there was a goat-demon that stole bad children away and brought them to Hell, Sarah reminded herself. Heck, if that was the case, then most children the world over would go missing shortly after they'd learned to walk and talk…but something terrible had definitely happened to that village boy—somehow, Sarah just knew it to be a fact. She then reminded herself that she had once believed that there was no such thing as the Goblin King…so who really knew about Krampus?

With that unsettling thought rattling around inside her skull, Sarah sat her half-finished cookie aside, on the end table beside the sofa. She’d come back for it later. She really should get back in the kitchen to see what Karen needed help with. 

Just as Sarah prepared to lift herself from the couch, a sort of rustling/scraping sound caught her attention—coming from the bay window behind her. She turned; with shock-widened eyes, and a slightly gaping mouth, Sarah took in the sight of an all too familiar barn owl. He looked almost wraithlike, with his pale feathers all but glowing in the silvery shine of the moon. He perched there (as bold as he pleased), on top of the metal light-up reindeer Karen liked to display on the wraparound porch, just outside the window. 

_Jareth!_ Her mind screamed with a contradicting mix of outrage and excitement. 

She should have known that the boot prints out back hadn’t been just a booze-induced trick of the mind. Gallingly enough, the Goblin King didn’t even have the decency to appear ashamed of being caught at his none-too-covert spying. He simply scooted closer to the window, along the reindeer’s wireframe, bulb-bedecked, back—creating the scraping sound once again, with his talons as he moved. When owl-Jareth had gotten as far as he possibly could, he gave her a casual tilt of his feathered head. As if to say, _“Why, hello there!”_

_That audacious jerk!_

Sure, she might have been a _bit_ disappointed that she hadn’t seen him out back earlier, but Sarah decided to blame the eggnog for that part. She hadn’t heard a peep from the Goblin King in two goddamn years, and there he was, just popping up again, without warning…right in the middle of her family Christmas! 

Where had Jareth been the night she’d cried her eyes out, over finding Kevin balls-deep in a trampy redhead when she’d gone to his apartment to surprise him with a takeout dinner from their favorite Chinese place? Where had Jareth been during the long, depression-filled months where she would have given her right arm to feel attractive again—when she desperately needed assurance that it hadn’t somehow been her fault that Kevin had cheated? For all Sarah had known, the Goblin King had officially written her off…and perhaps had gone and found himself someone new to annoy. Sarah had struggled with that notion far more than she cared to admit. 

Now, however, Jareth was just sitting out there, on her stepmom’s cheesy Christmas decor, giving her casual head-tilts (which was kinda cute when done in owl form) like everything was cool!

_Oh, hell no!_

Her heart was **not** pounding with excitement…it was outrage! It was! She wasn’t at all worried that she looked okay, and she sure as hell **wasn’t** contemplating running a brush through her hair or putting on a little lipstick before storming out there to confront him. Nope. Not at all.

As if proving a point to herself, Sarah leaped up from the sofa and headed for the front foyer, pointedly storming past the decorative mirror hanging on the wall. With a determined gritting of her jaw, she firmly fixed her gaze on the front double doors only—silently praising herself for not stopping to examine her appearance. Who cared what she looked like? She was only going out there to tell Jareth off—that was it! 

Too bad she’d been a little **too** focused on the front doors. Sarah belatedly found herself running straight into the small, circular mahogany table that Karen still liked to keep dead-center of the foyer. She cracked her hip hard against its painfully sturdy side, nearly knocking over the potted poinsettia resting on its glossy, polished surface.

“Son-of-a-bitch!” Sarah bit-out between clenched teeth, futilely trying to rub away the burning ache that radiated from her hip (and all down her leg), as she hobbled onward.

“What?! What happened? Are you really going out there again?” came Karen’s concerned voice from behind, halting Sarah’s progress just a few feet from her intended destination—the door.

“What’s with the sailor-mouth? Are you okay, Sarah? Where are you going?” She heard her dad ask.

_Great. Just great! Can’t a girl just slip outside to confront a peeping goblin king for half a freaking second, without the whole family being involved?!_

“Errr…no…nothing’s wrong.” Sarah forced her grimacing mouth into what she was sure was a strained, unconvincing imitation of a smile, before turning around to face her obviously perplexed parents.

“Did you hurt yourself?” her dad frowned, stepping up to give her a once-over.

“Just ran into the table over there. I’m okay, I promise,” she lied through her teeth, trying not to visibly wince as she took a backward step towards the door—the pain in her hip flaring anew.

“She’s had too much eggnog,” Karen loud-whispered. “She got all spooked over a neighbor shutting their car door earlier.” 

Sarah watched that tell-tale deep-set crease form between her father’s dark, bushy brows—the one that meant he was about to go into full-on worried dad mode and that getting him to go away was about to get a hell of a lot trickier.

“No, no. I’m fine. I swear. I just need to pop outside for a sec…” she insisted, taking another pain-filled backward step towards the double doors.

“Why do you need to go outside? It’s snowing now. I already told you, the noise earlier was just neighborhood visitors.” Karen frowned.

“Sarah, if you’ve been drinking enough to compromise your coordination, you really should just stay in the house,” her dad insisted.

_Good lord people, a nosey goblin king is poking around outside, and I gotta go tell him to piss off! Or maybe just get a good look at him before he poofs away again for another two years…God, Williams, you’re pathetic!_

“Um, no…I’m good. I just wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. Honest mistake. Besides, I **have** to go outside,” Sarah replied, her strained smile beginning to slip—the ache in her hip making her inwardly scream for a handful of ibuprofen and an icepack.

“Oh? And why is that? I already asked you once before, but you avoided the question.” Karen stepped up beside Robert, as she too gave Sarah a prolonged once-over as if she could magically ascertain her exact level of supposed inebriation (and/or discover precisely what was going on) with some sort of mind-reading mom-powers.

“I have to step out because…” Sarah wracked her pain-dulled brain for a viable excuse that didn’t involve mentioning that a Fae king (who had once abducted Toby) was lurking around outside their house. 

“Smoke!” the word suddenly exploded off her tongue like a haphazardly aimed missile. “I gotta go smoke! My umm…cigarettes…are in my coat pocket.” Sarah nodded towards the coatrack by the door (where her puffy navy-blue parka hung) and hoped she sounded at least somewhat convincing.

She was immediately met with twin looks of wide-eyed, disappointment-mingled shock.

_Really, Williams? You haven’t smoked since Kimmy Peterson offered you a drag of a menthol cigarette she stole from her mom’s purse, back in eighth grade, and it made you sick to your stomach! You couldn’t come up with something better than that?!_

“Why on earth would you do something so stupid? Smoking can kill you, Sarah! Haven’t you been paying attention to all those commercials on T.V? And what kind of example are you setting for your brother? Do you even know how hard it was for your father to quit?” Karen demanded, her blonde brows so dramatically arched that they practically touched her hairline.

Oh, great…she’d gone and stepped into forty-five-minute lecture territory now!

Surprisingly though, Robert’s expression softened just a tad. With a small sigh of hesitant acceptance, he put a mollifying hand on the small of his wife’s back. 

“Now, honey. It’s not unusual for someone her age to turn to anything they can for a bit of stress relief. Sarah’s in her mid-twenties, the point where her career is just barely starting to lift off from the ground. There’s a lot of pressure to prove yourself during that time, in pretty much any field. Trust me, my early years at the firm are what did it for me. I was never even slightly tempted to smoke before that. Besides, she’s trying to be at least somewhat responsible about it. She’s attempting to take it outside and away from the kids. Let’s cut her a little slack. She’s not a child anymore. We have to let her make her own decisions,” her dad informed Karen—apparently sympathizing with her fictitious plight.

Sarah eagerly grabbed onto that handily provided, bullshit excuse—as if she were drowning, and her newly fabricated nicotine addiction was a dearly needed life raft.

“Yup. That’s right! I’m just trying to be responsible. Secondhand smoke is bad and all that!” Sarah nodded emphatically, taking a few more hesitant, aching, backward steps towards the front doors.

“Fine…” Karen conceded wearily. “Do what you have to. Just remember to wear your coat and please, for all that is holy, spritz with some perfume and pop a mint afterward. All I need is Oma smelling cigarettes on you and ripping me a new one for it. **But** , after the holidays, you’re going to start weaning yourself off the cigs. I don’t care how grown you are—no one in this family is dying of lung cancer if I can help it. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sarah agreed, biting her tongue to keep from blurting out that quitting wouldn’t be a problem because she didn’t actually smoke.

“Come on, Robert, you can help me make a salad to go with dinner,” Karen grumbled, turned, and headed back towards the kitchen.

“She’s right. You need to quit. I can recommend a good hypnotherapist. Did wonders for me,” Robert added, before following after his wife.

“Sure, …thanks!” Sarah called after him, mentally cursing herself for being dumb enough to feed them a story that would require her to keep up the pretense of having a habit she didn’t really have.

She’d probably have to come clean sooner or later, but that was a worry for another time. Right then, she had a snooping goblin king to deal with.

 _And that’s just bound to be a real barrel of laughs…_ Sarah thought with a self-effacing smirk. 

As she tugged on her parka and pulled her wadded-up wool gloves from her right pocket, she tried in vain to convince herself that she wasn’t actually excited to see Jareth. She just needed to draw her proverbial line in the sand (or snow, rather). This was only about holding the Goblin King accountable for having zero respect for her personal space, nothing else. 

Too bad that was about as true as her supposed smoking habit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Info and possible trigger warnings:**  
>  Please heed the tags. FYI, this fic will basically just be smut with a bit of plot, a helping of crack, as well as a tiny sprinkling of fluff. We’ll also be venturing into the world of light kink/bondage in this, so just a heads-up. The first few chapters are going to be the setup, then we’re off to Smutsville! There will also be elements of dubious consent. Ultimately, consent will be given, but if you’re not at all comfortable with anything involving dub-con (even just elements) this probably won’t be your jam. So, if any of that hits your squick button, this one might not be for you. Just letting ya know now.


	2. The Argument and the Threat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone! We hope you’re all having a great holiday.

The moon was high and full as Sarah stepped out onto the porch, still slightly limping from her run-in with the foyer table. She pulled her gloves on over her rapidly chilling fingers and quickly zipped up her parka. It was bitterly cold, but she was thankful for the lack of wind. Getting buffeted in the face by an arctic gust was about as much fun as a colorblind person trying to play twister.

The porch groaned as Sarah edged her way around it, hedging towards the bay window through which she had spotted _him_. As she rounded the corner, her breath involuntarily choked with anticipation. Her ears strained for the repeated sound of talons scraping on metal—the creak of the porch, anything to indicate the presence of another being. As Sarah rounded the side of the porch, she let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding—disappointment seeping out of her on the exhale. 

There was nothing there, but the stupid light up reindeer—not so much as a stray feather or a boot print left behind. As unlikely as the odds might be, maybe it had just been a random owl, nothing more. Maybe Jareth really had lost interest in her completely. The thought made Sarah’s stomach turn in a way she didn’t want to think about.

“Looking for something, precious?”

_That voice!_

Sarah could have gotten whiplash with how fast she whirled around, her heart pounding—inexplicable excitement searing her nerves, making her almost lightheaded with overwhelming sensation. However, on the heels of said excitement came hard, unforgiving reality. The presence of the Goblin King meant trouble of one kind or another… even if her stupid racing pulse didn’t quite get the memo.

The ethereal shine of sterling moonlight that shown upon the snow in the yard made the sprawling expanse of powdery white twinkle like diamond dust, which cast a strange glow upon the Goblin King’s face. He stood just a little less than two feet from her, half-hidden in a night-shadowed alcove of the porch, save for the moonlight, coupled with the soft glow of the twinkle lights strung up over the porch railing, dancing across his features.

As Sarah took an unbidden step closer, she discovered that the meager luminescence from the Christmas lights allowed her just enough light to see that Jareth was attired in his customary well-polished black boots and breeches, appearing to have traded his poet’s shirt for something warmer and thicker, given the cold weather. A white lace cravat hugged his throat, an attractive contrast to the onyx stickpin that glinted on its frothy folds. His dark waistcoat was covered in intricate silver embroidery, and Sarah thought that she could see matching sterling threads flashing on the lining of his black velveteen cloak, which swished around his legs as he took a slow, deliberate step out of the shadows. It was kinda funny, Sarah supposed, even Fae kings had to dress for the elements.

“Stay where you are!” Sarah whisper-hissed, checking around to make sure none of the family had followed her and that there were no nosey neighbors out and about.

"Don’t move,” she instructed curtly once again.

Never mind that **she’d** been the first to take a step closer. Jareth looked as if he was very much aware of that fact, and found it all too amusing—a slow, almost feral grin spreading across his thin lips. 

_The smug ass…_

Suddenly aware of her proximity to the living room window, Sarah took a few small sidesteps closer to the grinning Goblin King, until she was safely away from the window’s line of view. The last thing she needed was her family spotting her talking to seemingly no one. Crossing her arms defensively over her chest and trying to ignore the almost giddy flip of her stomach as Jareth’s familiar scent invaded her senses, she looked the Goblin King over once more, almost grudgingly.

She hadn’t seen him in years, but as usual, Jareth never changed—as if time itself had decided he was trouble and wanted nothing to do with him. He was still a few inches taller than her; still lithe, fit, and intimidating as hell—wild golden hair catching the shine of the moon and Christmas lights just right, making it almost appear to be glowing. Oh boy…Jareth still had the power to frustrate and infuriate her with just one look, but he also had the power to make her knees feel as if they might fail to hold her upright at any second.

_And of course, he’s still gorgeous as ever…_

Sarah mentally slapped herself. How Jareth looked was irrelevant. His taunts, teasing, and invasive snooping around her family’s home were the very last things she needed. What she **did** need was to stop mooning like a lovesick fifteen-year-old and just cut to the chase.

The Goblin King’s dual-colored gaze pinned hers—one blue eye, one amber brown with a dramatically dilated pupil that didn’t at all match that of the blue. Sarah had always found his eyes oddly beautiful, almost unnervingly so. A part of her wanted nothing more than to just stand there and drown in that otherworldly gaze all night, damn the cold weather, and to heck with those waiting on her inside. Therein lay the problem. 

Whenever Jareth was around, her decision-making skills were never at their best—just as it had been ten years ago when she had run his Labyrinth. The Goblin King had always gotten in her head and used her inner desires to tempt her. The more she let him linger, the worse it would be…even if that small traitorous voice in the back of her mind whispered that him leaving now would only make that fissure that had formed on her heart, after two years of his absence, crack a little wider. 

Damn…why did she always want things that were bad for her? High-calorie foods, Italian leather heels that cost nearly a month’s rent, men that would only hurt her…

Jareth parted his grinning lips as if to say something, and Sarah immediately held up a silencing, gloved hand. No, letting him speak freely was dangerous. That British-like accent did _things_ to her, and she’d rather not give him yet one more weapon to use against her. She had to keep things on track. 

Sarah forced her mouth into a hard line. “I’m going to ask you this one time, Jareth. What. Do. You. Want?”

 _And why did you stay away so long? Why come back now?_ That stupid voice in her mind murmured, urging her to speak the words out loud, but Sarah stubbornly locked her jaw, refusing to let those loaded questions hit the air between them.

* * *

What did he want? Ah, but that was quite the question, wasn’t it? Jareth wasn’t entirely sure how he should answer. Of course, he could tell her the truth. He could simply open his mouth and tell Sarah that he wanted **her** —that she was the only thing he’d ever truly wanted...but then why in the bloody name of the underworld should he? Why should he bare his soul when all she did was cruelly deny him? 

Sarah had first denied him ten years ago when he had so generously offered her himself, as well as her fondest dreams, come true. The ungrateful chit had all but spat in his face. Of course, she’d been so young then—not fully understanding him, the rules of his kind, or even what she truly wanted. So, after Jareth had licked his proverbial wounds and allowed his boiling anger over Sarah’s callous rejection to cool to a mild simmer, he had tried again. He had appeared to her over the years, had spoken with her, had charmed her—all the while waiting so very, very patiently for her murmured concession—for her to give him what he needed to end the tiresome chase. She hadn’t given it.

He had tried, again and again, only to have her repeatedly deny him with her silence, as the years pressed on. Each time he had come to Sarah, Jareth had presented her with an unspoken gift—an opportunity. How many chances had he given her to say her right words? More than his bristling pride wanted to admit. Because of her denial of his power over her, ten years ago, the binding rules of Fair Folk law forbade him from officially claiming Sarah and whisking her away to the Underground, unless she verbally recanted her freedom and wished him to take her.

Foolishly, he had dared to hope that Sarah would feel the undeniable pull of destiny between them—that she would remember the words she had once muttered in anger and frustration to her baby brother and use them to bind herself to his world, to him, as it was always meant to be. Words held an unimaginable power over his kind, and without the right words, there would forever be a cursed barrier between himself and the girl who ate the peach. Yes, there was no rule against him coaxing her on what to say, but his pride wouldn’t allow it. He was a king of Faerie, he did **not** beg! 

Jareth had all but begged once before, at the end of Sarah’s Labyrinth run—when he had tried and failed to make her understand what he’d sacrificed for her—to make her fully comprehend what he could give her. Still, she had looked him right in the eye and uttered those Gods-be-damned words that had torn him from her—words that had mercilessly bound him from snatching her back, unless she wished it otherwise. 

_“You have no power over me!”_

The Goblin King vowed that he would never again slaughter his dignity to plead with the girl. He had all but offered her the still-beating heart from his chest, and Sarah had callously refused. Worse yet, she had turned her back on him and given to others what was rightfully his. She had kissed, touched, and shared her body with other men. She had wasted upon them what should have only been given to him. She had chosen to throw away two unreclaimable years of her life on a pathetic, weak mortal who had squandered her love and loyalty as if such boons were nothing but trivial rubbish—gifts Jareth would have treasured and worshiped if only they’d be given to him.

He had tried to let his bitterness harden his heart. He had tried to forget her—had tried to purge her from his system once and for all… but then her dreams had called to him through the barrier that separated their two worlds. Her dreams were like an unrelenting siren’s song that lingered in his ears. Oh, and what dreams they’d been! They’d been so very different than the dreams she’d had at fifteen—the ones that had initially caught Jareth’s interest and had alerted him to her existence. In the dreams of her teenage youth, Sarah had envisioned herself a princess from a story, awaiting a dashing prince to sweep her off her feet. He had tried to make that dream a reality during her Labyrinth run…and she had **literally** smashed it to bits.

However, the dreams that had recently come drifting to Jareth, like a sultry whisper in the dark, had been the polar opposite of the fairytale fantasies of virginal puffed-sleeved gowns and masked balls. No, the recent dreams Sarah had unknowingly shared with him had been much more carnal in nature. For nights on end, she’d dreamt of herself bare and beneath him—her legs splayed, the juice of her arousal glistening wet on her parted thighs, as she begged him to take her—to fill her…and Gods help him, when his dream-self slid to the hilt within her, it felt like coming home.

Sometimes, in these dreams, Sarah was the aggressor—eagerly straddling him, seating herself upon his cock, and riding him until they were both a sweaty, sated mess. Other times she was a wide-eyed submissive, trembling at his commanding touch. However, no matter who played the role of the initiator, the dreams always ended the same. Sarah would turn to him, her breath coming ragged from their previous exertion, her jade eyes shining with glowing adoration, as a whispered _“I love you”_ left her lips on a breathless sigh. 

It was because of these dreams and the sensation of raw, unbridled longing he felt emanating from them that Jareth was unable to ignore her any longer. It was almost ironically humorous— her being cross with him for turning up unannounced when her persistent nocturnal call had all but driven him a hair's breadth from madness.

However, the Goblin King refused to be the one to put his pride upon the chopping block this time around. He’d done that enough already. If Sarah Williams truly wanted him, she would have to say it. No, he would have her beg! Oh, how sweet her pleading words would sound moaned in his ear as he thrust into her tight, wet heat. The very thought made Jareth’s cock swell within the snug confines of his breeches. Looking at her now—her lips and cheeks red from the cold, her dark hair loose and in slight disarray around her shoulders. It was everything he could to do to keep from reaching out to touch her.

“What. Do. I. Want?” Jareth finally replied, mimicking Sarah’s same tense, clipped cadence. “That’s a rather cheeky tone to take with an old friend now, don’t you think? And here I was coming to see how you were getting on these days,” he forced a blasé drawl and smirk that were the very opposite of what he was feeling—torn, feverish, wanting, and very much out of his mind with frustration.

“Friends? Really Jareth? We’re _friends_ now? Since when? Cause the last time I checked, friends didn’t disappear from each other’s lives for two years without so much as a single word.” Sarah scowled, her narrowed eyes glinting like jade daggers.

Jareth wasn’t quite sure why her impudent tone dug beneath his skin as quick, and as deep, as it did, but within the blink of an eye, he felt his anger sparking like a flint to tinder.

“And why would **you** care a whit about my absence? You were so very occupied with your mingebag of a boyfriend and his straying cock,” he replied coldly. 

The Goblin King regretted those words the second they departed from his tongue, or perhaps he only regretted the way they made Sarah flinch as if she’d been struck. Either way, he supposed it had been bad form and faintly regretted that he couldn’t simply snatch the careless utterance right back, as if it had never been spoken.

“What would you know about any of that? Have you been spying on me, like other than tonight?” She gaped at him.

Why did her indignant shock somehow rankle him all the more? Did she truly think a bit of crystal scrying and a few late nights spent perched (in avian form) outside the window of her apartment, as grievous a sin as what she had done to him? 

“So, what if I have?” he countered with a sneer, loathing the small, needling prick of guilt that nipped at his belly at Sarah’s crestfallen expression.

“So…you knew about all of that? You knew about what Kevin did to me—how much he hurt me, and you still stayed away?” She asked in a tone that tied Jareth’s insides into knots.

Why did she have to look at him like that? As if **he’d** been the one who had blatantly ignored what was so obviously between them—to go throwing himself into the arms of another!

_No, love. That was your wrongdoing. Not mine…_

With that inward reminder, Jareth felt the small worm of guilt that had begun to eat at him, abruptly dissolve into nothing—the return of his righteous anger blasting through him, hot and sharply indignant, once more.

“And what would you have had me do? Show up and play the sympathetic shoulder for you to weep upon as you pined for another? Or dare I say, assume the role of…what is it you mortals call it again? Ah yes, a _rebound_. I am a **king** , Sarah. I am no one’s rebound,” he hissed.

With that, Sarah only gave a brief, mirthless chuckle, shaking her head at him as if he were dead from the neck up. She glanced over her shoulder (to the outline of the window not far behind). She then briskly walked past him and around the bend of the porch—motioning for him to follow, with an agitated flick of her wrist as she went. Apparently, she didn’t want her precious family to hear them and come outside. Oh, how amusing that would be—watching Sarah try to explain his presence.

“And that’s what it all comes down to, isn’t it? Your stupid ego. Admit it; you don’t give a damn about me. I’m just some weird combination of a novelty and an adversary to you.” Sarah whirled on him once she deemed them to be a safe enough distance from the window, abruptly halting Jareth in his tracks.

She paused to glance around once more, making sure there were no unwanted observers around their new location, before speaking again. 

“I beat you at your own game when I was only fifteen, and you can’t stand it! A pathetic little _mortal_ shouldn’t have been able to do that. So, what, spying on how sad my life is, makes you feel like a big, strong man?” she continued. “Does it help soothe your precious, kingly pride, knowing my ex treated me like garbage? It’s the only reason you’re here, isn’t it? You just want to gloat,” Sarah accused and, Gods help him, the hurt that flashed in her eyes cut at Jareth, making him inwardly wince with remorse—a feeling he was unaccustomed to and loathed entirely.

Part of him wanted to gather her in his arms. He wanted to assure Sarah that his being there had nothing to do with some long-festering bitterness about the outcome of her Labyrinth run. However, it had **everything** to do with being so helplessly drawn to her that he couldn’t have put her from his mind, even if his very existence had depended upon it. Even when he’d been certain that it was best to forget her, he’d been woefully unable. Like it or not, Sarah Williams was a part of him—like the bruised heart that still beat out a pining rhythm for her within the cage of his chest.

Yet, at the same time, her accusing words chaffed at him—rubbed the proverbial salt in his poorly scabbed wounds. How long had he waited for her to know what he had known instantly and instinctively from the very first moment her dreams had reached out to him from across the veil—that they were fated, their destinies hopelessly entwined? 

_Too bloody long!_

Yet Sarah still insisted upon casting him in the role of the villain, stubbornly refusing to see what was right in front of her. So, perhaps she wasn’t entirely wrong. Some of it was about his pride—not because he wanted to watch her suffer for the sake of vengeance, but because he was unwilling to utterly prostrate himself at her feet, only to be cast aside like the old toys and costumes from her girlhood, once again. And honestly, why should he have to beg, plead, or even explain? She had turned to the arms of others over the years; he had not. Why should he all but lick her boots, when truly it was **he** who had been wronged, ignored and all but forgotten.

“You know, precious thing, I find it almost humorous—how after all these years, you are still so very fond of tirelessly beating the same drum—of how _unfair_ I supposedly am to you. Perhaps it is high time you do as that droll mortal saying instructs, and take a good hard look in the mirror,” Jareth curtly replied. 

He tried to remain cold, detached, unyielding—forcing ice into his tone, coaxing his features into hard, stony lines. Yet his traitorous body had other ideas, his booted feet stepping closer to her, as if of their own accord. Sarah didn’t back away, Jareth noted with a rush of smug satisfaction. Her eyes burned with bristling indignation at the slice of obviously unwanted truth he’d tossed her way, but rather than taking a single step back, she sidestepped. Her back soon went flat against the side of the house, giving him the perfect opening to cage her in with the warm press of his body, which the Goblin King took full advantage of without a second’s hesitation. 

Jareth’s arms went to either side of her shoulders, leather-encased palms resting flat against the cold siding of Sarah’s childhood home. He bent his arms, leaning in. Sarah’s addicting scent all but seeped into his pores as he came close enough to smell the cinnamon, cardamom, cloves, and citrus lingering on her breath from the gingerbread he’d seen her nibbling on through the window. Never had Jareth imagined that he’d ever find himself in the rather surreal position of being wildly envious of a cookie…but alas, there he was.

He suppressed a shiver at the sensation of Sarah’s chest (as encased in the irksome barrier of her puffy coat as it was) pressing into his own, and immediately decided that playing nice was for those who weren’t interested in gaining an advantage…and he was so very done with _playing nice_. With that thought in mind, he moved in closer still, unblinking as he pressed his pelvis to hers, his previous arousal returning with a vengeance, as he pressed the hard evidence of it into Sarah’s hip. The defiant little minx should understand precisely what she did to him. Jareth was finished with subtleties. Frankly, the time for such should have ended long ago, he mentally rebuked himself. 

Sarah gasped, a soft spice-perfumed exhale against his lips, which did nothing to ease the persistent ache of the goblin King’s shaft. Her eyes went wide with shock—evidently feeling his undeniable want for her. However, his Sarah didn’t so much as even twitch a muscle to move away from him—a fact that had the corners of Jareth’s mouth stretching into a wide grin of triumph. The most alluring shade of rose bloomed across her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, and crept down to the tempting, creamy length of her pale throat.

“I…I mean…w-what are you trying to say? H-how am **I** possibly unfair to **you**?” Sarah stammered her belated, flustered reply eliciting a low chuckle of amusement from low in his belly.

“You, my dear,” Jareth grinned anew, flashing her a clear view of his ever so slightly pointed teeth. His heavy-lidded gaze dropped to the promised softness of her neck, “have **always** been hypocritically unfair, despite your previous claims to be so very concerned about the practice of the virtue. It’s rather ironic really because you continue to deny me what is mine. How is that at all fair? However, I have decided that I won’t be making it easy for you to do so any longer.”

With that, Jareth lowered his mouth to Sarah’s delicate jawline, trailing his lips teasingly light there—barely a ghostlike brush. She gave a fractured gasp—her back arching slightly against the house, her chest pressing into his as if instinctively straining for more. Gods…she made him dizzy. His keen Fae senses swam as he picked up on the smell of her arousal scenting the air around them. The Goblin King’s nostrils flared, as he dragged Sarah’s delectable aroma in on a greedy inhalation that made him throb low in his groin.

“So very responsive, love,” Jareth purred his appreciation against her neck, immensely pleased at the way she all but melted into him.

“W-what…do…you mean—what’s yours?” she murmured, sounding almost dazed as he parted his lips and slowly trialed just the tip of his tongue over the throbbing pulse of her throat. Oh, but he could hear her heart hammering.

Jareth hummed low in appreciation, savoring the mildly sweet taste of Sarah’s skin, as she shivered against him—his heart thundering in his chest, almost in tandem with Sarah’s, his cock straining against the suddenly near painful confines of his breeches. By the Gods…the woman was like a drug—clouding his senses, instantly making him crave more with a ferocity that almost bordered on frightening. 

Sarah Williams was **everything**. The sound of her laughter gave him life. The way her eyes unknowingly lit up whenever they centered upon him, made Jareth’s heart squeeze within his chest, and now, with her panting breath filling his ears like the sweetest melody, he was all but crazed with determination that soon the charade would be over, soon she **would** say the words that would sever the divide between them.

“A-answer me...dammit,” Sarah gasped raggedly, writhing against him as he sucked at her throat, uncaring if he left a mark.

_Let it serve as physical evidence that she is claimed…_

“Jareth…what…did…you mean? Tell me…” she breathed, her hands coming up to shakily push at his chest in a wholly insincere mockery of a staying gesture.

Jareth chuckled against Sarah’s now saliva-slicked throat, his gloved hands leaving their resting place against the house. He gathered her wrists with struggle-free ease, pinning them both above her head with his right hand, his left arm looping about her waist in a tight, possessive hold that all but eliminated any remaining space between them. Sarah didn’t fight him. The only movement she made was a slight turning of her head so that she could pin him with wide, questioning eyes.

“You see, love…” he drawled, turning his mouth from the wet, red splotch he’d created at her pulse point, moving his lips to where they hovered just a hair's breadth from hers. “ **This** is mine…” Jareth whispered, his eyes lingering on the promised sweetness of Sarah’s lush mouth.

“What are you talki--” she began, but Jareth quickly decided he’d hear none of it.

There had been more than enough talk and far too much tedious waiting. 

Jareth silenced the start of Sarah’s unwanted question by hungrily taking her mouth with his—finally. How long had he craved this very action, like a man dying of thirst, would crave a cool drink of water? 

_Entirely too damn long!_

Sarah’s mouth was just as sweet as he’d anticipated. Her tongue was warm, slick, and tasting of the gingerbread spices he’d scented on her breath. Oh, how he relished the fact that she didn’t hesitate to kiss him back, as he stroked his tongue around hers in a slow, deliberate spiral, which elicited a whimper from his little mortal that went straight to his cock. Jareth let out a muffled groan of his own against her soft lips. His head reeled at the exquisite taste of her—his body burning, tensing, straining, **demanding** more. Gods…he could happily drown in her—could carelessly surrender his senses to her right then and there.

It took every last grain of willpower within the Goblin King’s being to drag his greedy mouth from Sarah’s. Still, he managed all the same, ignoring her small mewl of protest when he withdrew—nipping at her kiss-wetted lips before he backed his mouth from hers completely. Jareth then allowed himself a second to admire the woman who had occupied his every thought and desire for what seemed like both the briefest beat of a faerie's wing and an endless, yearning eternity. Never before had Sarah Williams been more beautiful, he decided—her green, half-lidded eyes hazed with lust, her full lips reddened and glistening from his kiss, her cheeks flushed and all but glowing. He would forever remember her within this moment, Jareth vowed—long after she’d left her dull, fragile existence as a mortal behind and ruled at his side for well over a millennium.

“And this, **this** is mine…” he furthered his previous point, returning his lips to her throat.

Yet instead of lingering in one place again, Jareth let his hungry mouth travel down the silken expanse of Sarah’s neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses, teasing licks, and playful nibbles as he went.

“Oh…my…god…” Sarah whispered on a ragged exhale as the hand he’d had at her waist came up to pull at the zipper of her puffy coat.

 _Your God can’t save you now, precious,_ he thought with a pleased smirk as he continued to pull her coat’s zipper until the top half of her wine-colored sweater was exposed. 

With a purposeful thought, Jareth sent his magic forth—cocooning Sarah in warmth, so she wouldn’t freeze while he explored the haven of her body at his leisure.

“And these, darling. **These** are mine,” he flashed her a wicked grin of intent as he dipped one crooked, leather-clad finger into the neckline of her sweater.

Jareth pulled the fuzzy material as far as it would stretch until the soft swells of her breasts (encased in a lacy black brassiere) were visible over the tautly pulled neckline.

Gods, but his Sarah’s expression was priceless: two-parts dreamy-eyed lust, one-part exasperated shock, and three-parts barely repressed excitement-tinged eagerness. He savored it like the slow sip of a fine wine. Without the spoken encouragement, he knew his beloved stubbornly held back behind the barrier of her clenched teeth, the Goblin King dipped his head to her exposed cleavage. He laved the tops of the creamy globes he ached to fill his hands with—forcibly limiting himself to just a nip here, a slow lick there, as Sarah further arched into him—expressing her need without words. 

Jareth dipped just the tip of his tongue under the edge of the black lace confection that encased her breasts, granting himself just the barest graze of a hot, pebbled nipple. His base, male pride stoked at the broken hiss that left Sarah’s lips, her wrists bucking against the grip of his hand in a mindless, instinctual effort to get closer to him—to force him to take more of her delectable, soft flesh into the wet heat of his mouth. His cock was like a bar of steel, straining against the seam of his breeches, making him feverishly wonder if his burning need for her would cause him to split the stitching. 

His every primal instinct screamed at him, through the mad rush of his blood within his veins. Oh, how he wanted to release Sarah’s wrists—just long enough to tear her coat away, yank her sweater over her head, and use his inhuman strength to tug at that teasing excuse of an undergarment of hers. He wanted to tug it until it ripped down the middle where the lace cups joined, allowing her alabaster breasts to spill blessedly free. Jareth’s mind all but bellowed at him to (at the very least) suck her hot, protruding nipples through the lace of her bra, until his little mortal was a pleading, writhing mess against him. She was already halfway there as it was—the air around them filling with the small, impatient whines she made, low in the back of her throat. 

Alas, Jareth did the unthinkable and denied them both. Instead, he tore his mouth from Sarah’s soft, exquisite flesh to straighten and look her directly in her dazed, jewel-like eyes. He made a prolonged show of slowly unzipping her coat the rest of the way, pushing the two halves aside as best as he could manage one-handed. Sarah was panting as he stepped close once again, his one-handed grip lightly squeezing around her gathered wrists, as he pressed the rigid, demanding length of himself right where it wanted to be the most—at the juncture of her thighs. 

He cursed low under his breath at the feel of her heat, calling to him between the restrictive barriers of their respective clothing. Without hesitation, he returned his left hand to the wall of siding at Sarah’s back and braced his weight against it. He then maintained promise-laden eye contact with his little mortal, as he gave her warm, denim-covered cunt a slow, hard grind.

“This too, love. **This** is mine, and you will never again give it to another,” Jareth rasped heatedly, tensing at the bolt of pleasure that gripped him with the hard brush of glorious friction. “You, Sarah William’s, are **mine**.”

* * *

Sarah felt like a driver who had lost control of their vehicle, her mind in a frozen daze—spinning out wildly, without a single coherent thought to be had. Until he went and said **those** words, and then it was like her whole body had slammed on the brakes. A sudden well of outrage abruptly banished the mindless lust that had previously possessed her. 

She caught Jareth by surprise, yanking her wrists from his suddenly relaxed grip, and used her newfound freedom to quickly shove him back enough for her to push past the lieth cage he had made of his body. He hadn’t been expecting that, Sarah thought, with a touch of petty satisfaction. Otherwise, she very much doubted she would have been able to budge him.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?!” she spat out on whisper-shout, suddenly mindful of those inside the house.

Her family rushing out to see what was happening was probably the very last thing she needed at the moment—well, that and some Fae egomaniac putting claims to her and her body that he had neither earned nor deserved.

“So, let me get this straight, Jareth. You admit to me that you knew about what my ex did and that you purposely stayed away, then you think you can just show up here, out of the blue—spying on me and laying some caveman-like claim to my pussy? Seriously, go screw yourself right up the ass with a sandpaper dildo,” she seethed, angrily pulling up her now woefully stretched-out sweater and rezipping her parka with trembling hands.

The Goblin King’s answering glower was something to behold—both frightening and darkly beautiful, with his mismatched gaze all but glowing with caged fury in the coupled luminescence of the moon and Christmas lights. For a second there, Sarah forgot to breathe.

“Once again, _little girl_ you are trifling with things that you do not understand,” Jareth’s voice came out in a low, menacing rumble that made her inwardly quiver…and not from fear— Sarah realized with a flash of self-annoyance. 

“If I say that you are mine, then you **are** mine. That is all there is to it. I have had my fill of your teasing and mulish denial. You lie to yourself that these mortal men could ever fully appreciate you or live up to your lofty expectations. Haven’t you already had enough proof of that with your boorish Kevin, who was no better than a rutting mongrel driven only by what dangled (lacking, might I say) between his legs? Now you want to turn to yet another, this _Travis_ chap. Please, allow me to play the role of wise, all-seeing sage when I tell you that he too will fail you miserably, Sarah, because he is **not** me,” Jareth told her harshly.

Sarah loathed the tiny, barely-there answering whisper, deep inside her mind, which murmured to her that he wasn’t entirely wrong.

 _No, screw that! Screw him!_ She thought with a renewed sense of anger, as she fully processed Jareth’s mention of Travis.

Her stomach clenched with the scalding burn of resentment, as she recalled the thump she’d heard earlier, coming from outside. Outraged understanding settled over her like a cold, wet blanket. 

“So, what? Were you standing outside with your damn ear pressed to the kitchen door? That’s low, Jareth. Even for you,” she scowled at him.

“Correction, my dear. What’s _low_ is that you have kept me waiting for years on end to dally with lesser beings. I waited for two bloody, miserable years for you to see what a pathetic, faithless cur your former lover was. Now you are poised to throw yourself at the next bland, stuffing-for-brains lackwit who will be just as Kevin was before him, tragically unworthy of you!” Jareth spat, taking a slow, intentional step towards her.

Oh, no, he didn’t! She wasn’t about to let him pin her again and make her stupid brain malfunction! Once was enough…even if her body, with its still-hard nipples and slick stickiness between her thighs, told her that it wasn’t. Sarah took two large (slightly wobbly) steps backward—putting some much-needed space between herself and the Goblin King. She sucked in a few deep breaths of chilly air, futilely willing the cold to clear her mind and body of all Jareth-based desires. 

“Who are you to say who is and isn’t worthy of me?! Cause you sure as hell aren’t. I don’t care what you say. Stay the hell out of my life Jareth, because I don’t want you in it. Now or ever!” she growled, her brain and her heart both reeling with a weird mixture of hurt, anger, sadness…and just the tiniest twinge of regret.  
But she couldn’t think too hard on that part.

“You know, it’s rather humorous, in a sad sort of way—that after ten years you, Sarah mine, are still very much a spoiled little brat, who has zero understanding of the Fae. You trifle with dangerous elements. Do not think that mine is the only set of ears that might be listening to your words. We Tuatha De Danann are an opportunistic lot, and some are keenly observant this time of year. Mortals who have been touched by our kind are always of a particular interest. What if the very being who took the brother of your step grandmother’s childhood friend is listening now? He’s taken naughty, ungrateful brats before, many a time. What would stop him from taking you? Not I. You’ve all but wished for me to bugger off. So, I might just do that and leave you to your fate,” Jareth sneered, his words laced with underlying contempt.

Really?! Was he really trying to scare her with Uroma’s story?! 

_That’s just lower than low…_ Sarah thought with an inward scoff.

However, her immediate disbelief in the sham of a threat Jareth had just callously tossed her way, didn’t quite stop the involuntary chill that suddenly walked down her spine...or the wary prickle at the back of her neck. Jareth lived in the world of the Fae…what if he knew things she didn’t? There couldn’t actually be a Krampus, could there?

 _Well, you did think the Goblin King was just a story for the longest time…_ her sadistic bitch of an inner voice whispered.

No…it was just a stupid story. The Goblin King was just pulling things out of his ass, trying to get a rise out of her. She was so calling his bluff!

“Krampus isn’t even Fae. He’s a goat-demon,” Sarah replied tartly. “He isn’t of the Tuatha De.”

Jareth laughed far too hard at that, throwing his tousled blonde head back and chuckling heartily—instantly making Sarah’s hand itch to slap the smug right off his stupid, gorgeous face.

“Demon, angel, ghost, monster—call them by your silly mortal names if you must, but make no mistake, dearest—all of those entities make their home beyond the veil, in Faeire.” He smirked.

Damn. Jareth’s response gave her pause, an icy twinge of foreboding nestling within her gut. 

_Well…it does kinda make sense…No! Screw that!_

Jareth was just trying to mess with her—to get in her head. That had always been his M.O., hadn't it? He was baiting her, and she **wouldn’t** bite.

“Well then, Krampus can go right ahead and try it. He comes here, I’ll just kick him right in his hairy goat balls and he can go whimpering all the way home back to Hell!” Sarah shot back, adding an especially forceful, “Get bent, Goblin King!” before turning on her heel and storming back into the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re aiming to finish this in early (to mid) January, so stay tuned. Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. Thanks so much for reading! <3


	3. The Unwanted Feelings and the Idea

Sarah closed the front door with far more force than she should have—the echoing clap of slamming wood reverberating throughout the foyer like the rumble of thunder.

_“What if the very being who took the brother of your step grandmother’s childhood friend is listening now? He’s taken naughty, ungrateful brats before, many a time.”_

Jareth’s words slithered through her mind as she tore off her coat and gloves with clipped, furious motions.

_Ungrateful brat?! Really?! So, now I should be grateful he stole my brother, drugged me with a peach, and now years later randomly stalks me and makes ridiculous claims on my body! The goddamn nerve!_ Sarah let out a low growl of frustration as she balled up her gloves and forcefully shoved them into the pocket of her parka.

_“I can be generous…”_

The Goblin King’s condescending words from ten years ago came wafting back, pouring the proverbial lemon juice on the fresh papercut. He really hadn’t changed a bit, had he? He still thought he could do whatever the hell he wanted and that she should just fall at his feet in simpering gratitude. As if!

 _You really shouldn’t have let him paw at you…or kiss you…now you’ve gone and stepped in it big-time._ The snide voice in her head taunted.

_He’ll never leave you alone now…_

What was worse, even after every jerkish, insensitive thing he’d said, part of her (a **very** stupid part that thought with her vagina instead of her head) thrilled at the idea of Jareth never leaving her be. Especially after, that kiss…just one kiss, and her entire goddamn body had lit up like the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Square! She’d never felt like that before. While Sarah had always enjoyed kissing, the few guys she’d dated over the passing years (including Kevin) had never made her feel like she’d been illuminated from the inside out—like she couldn’t remember her own name afterward—like every single cell in her body was on fire and reeling with hyperawareness.

She could still taste Jareth on her tongue—mint and fiery heat. Her lips still tingled from the way he’d practically devoured her. Her heart slammed in her chest, like a car against a brick wall, as Sarah recalled every single detail—the feel of Jareth’s lean, wiry body pressed to hers…the feel of his hardness grinding right where she wanted him most…

_This is why you need to steer clear of men from now on, Williams—human and Fae men alike. Especially Fae men, with their brain-melting, devil penis magic! Let’s face it, you’re not strong enough to resist._

No, screw that! She had resisted temptation before when she had ignored the crystal in the Goblin King’s outstretched hand ten years ago, despite how she’d burned to take it, to surrender everything to him. Yet she’d refused Jareth then, and she had walked away from him just now. She could do so again if he came back.

 _Sure ya can. I believe you…not!_ The persistent pulse between her thighs seemed to taunt.

“Everything okay, Sarah? I heard the door slam, and, just a little bit ago, I thought I heard voices arguing outside. Yours and a man’s…you alright?” Sarah froze at the sound of her aunt Deborah’s voice behind her.

_Shit!_

Sarah’s shock numbed fingers, clumsily fumbled the action of hanging up her parka on the coatrack. Failing miserably, her coat dropped to the floor in a puffy blue nylon heap. She sighed in defeat and decided to leave it for the time being, slowly turning around to face her aunt with the heat of shame burning on her cheeks.

“Umm…yeah… about that…” Sarah started, not quite knowing what to say, “Did everyone hear what you did?”

Aunt Deborah grinned slyly, the fine lines at the corners of her eyes crinkling with amusement. 

“Nope. Shortly after you left the living room, your dad left too. He came back a minute later, asking for volunteers to help set the table and get everything ready for dinner. We started to help, but then Allen started shooting off about how he could still beat your dad at Pool. That, of course, got the competitive testosterone flowing. Your dad challenged him to a game, and Mallory started taking bets. Now everyone but Karen is down in the basement—gathered around the Pool table; Lena too. She put a fiver on your dad. I had to help her down the stairs myself. Let me tell you, trying to get an eighty-two-year-old safely down narrow basement stairs is **not** a good time.” Aunt Deborah chuckled, giving a small shake of her head—auburn, grey-streaked curls bouncing lightly. 

“Because everyone else is engrossed in two middle-aged men battling over bragging rights, I decided to come back up and help poor Karen with the dinner stuff, when I remembered that I’d left my pager in the living room. I told the house sitter to give me a beep if there was any trouble at our place, so I need to make sure I keep it on me. I went to go get it, and I heard what sounded like arguing coming from the side of the house, followed by you slamming the front door,” Aunt Deborah informed her, shrewd brown eyes raking over the stretched-out neck of Sarah’s sweater.

“Umm…yeah…so…” Sarah willed a viable explanation to miraculously pop into her Goblin-King-muddled brain, but nothing came.

Panic seized her, her jaw working uselessly to expel words that stubbornly refused to come forth. Aunt Deborah only chuckled again.

“Save it. You don’t need to explain anything to me. I was young once. I know all about the kinda guys who make you want to both kiss and slap them at the same time. Just be careful, that type is trouble. I should know, I married one.” Her aunt smiled knowingly.

_Trouble? Oh, Aunt Deb…you have no idea!_

“Yeah…umm…sure. Thanks,” was all Sarah could think to say in response—inwardly cringing at her own awkwardness.

“You should come help Karen and me in the kitchen, but first go change your sweater, it’s wrecked. Oh, and put something on that giant plum-sized hickey on your neck. There’s bound to be questions about it, and from the uninterested way you’ve mentioned that Travis boy Karen is dying to get you settled with, I doubt that was him out there. So, unless you want to explain to your stepmom that her matchmaking attempt has crashed and burned before it even got off the ground, during dinner with the whole family present, I suggest you go take care of that.” Aunt Deborah winked. 

“Yeah…okay. Thanks, Aunt Deb.” Sarah nodded as cool relief flooded her, turning towards the stairs to do exactly as her aunt had suggested.

“Don’t mention it. Literally. Karen can be quite the bulldog. I don’t need to get on her bad side.” With that, Aunt Deborah chuckled, turned, and headed back to the kitchen.

Sarah watched her go, wondering exactly how much her aunt had overheard. As if of its own accord, her hand wandered to the tender patch of skin at her throat—where Jareth had evidently marked her. Her clit gave a sudden throbbing ache at the idea of the Goblin King purposely wanting to brand her in some way.

 _Christ on a cracker, Sarah…what’s wrong with you?!_ She mentally scolded herself.

With a prolonged self-effacing sigh, Sarah trudged up the stairs to go slather her new love bite with a crap-load of foundation. She forcibly tuned out the mocking whisper in her head that taunted that it was the last thing she wanted to do—her entire body tensing with the effort of denial. She didn’t want to catch glimpses of Jareth’s hickey in reflective surfaces all night or anything. She didn’t want to remember how damn good his mouth had felt at her throat. She **didn’t**!

_Funny how your hip doesn't even hurt anymore. Apparently, all it takes is getting pawed at by Jareth, and your body is practically floating on cloud nine..._

Ugh! Her stupid, scattered thoughts were all over the place! This was all the fault of the damn eggnog! She'd been perfectly sensible before downing those two glasses in the kitchen.

_Keep right on lying to yourself, Williams. Keep right on lying…_

* * *

Dinner had been long and tedious. Sarah had only absorbed bits and pieces of the conversations flying all around her. The subjects of how Toby and Mallory were doing in school, how long it had taken uncle Allen to build his new backyard shed, and how Karen’s book club had started reading _Angela’s Ashes_ , were all relatively dull when compared to the recent memory of Jareth sucking at her neck. Oh, geez...the way he'd kissed her…the way he’d licked the tops of her breasts…just barely grazing her nipple with his hot, slick tongue…

All during the meal, Sarah walked the slippery tightrope of tuning in just enough to murmur a non-committal agreement to whatever she was directly asked. She then let her mind drift back to earlier, out on the porch with the Goblin King—her pussy clenching at the memory of his lips on her skin, her already damp panties becoming even more of a hopeless, sticky mess when she thought of how hard he’d felt against the crotch of her jeans.

She’d gotten odd looks when her uncle had asked her about her thoughts on President Clinton’s recent signing of the Electronic Freedom of Information Act, and her reply had been an absent _“Mmmhmmm…I guess.”_

Several times Sarah had been asked if she was feeling okay, and several times she’d insisted she was perfectly fine, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture of insincere reassurance. At the same time, her dazed brain stubbornly echoed back the feel of Jareth’s lips on hers over and over, on a constant loop. All the while, Aunt Deborah had shot her sly, knowing looks that made Sarah avert her eyes with a tiny twinge of shame.

At last, the meal was over. Sarah jumped at the chance to be the one to do the after-dinner cleanup. Anything to avoid being roped into spectating a Pool rematch between her dad and Uncle Allen. Once again, everyone had gone down to the basement to spectate. Well, everyone except Uroma, who had declined because her knees couldn’t take another trip down the basement steps.

As Sarah stood hunched over the kitchen sink (up to her elbows in soapy, lukewarm dishwater), she found herself scrubbing a bit too hard, almost angrily, at a casserole dish that contained the congealing remains of Karen’s Au Gratin potatoes.

_It’s a casserole dish, not the Goblin King’s face! Get a grip, Williams!_

Releasing a long, shaky pent-up sigh of simmering frustration, Sarah tried to focus on something—anything other than Jareth. She tried humming a few lines of Donna Lewis’s _I Love You Always Forever_ , having heard it on the radio just that morning…but, just like everything she’d done since going outside to confront the Goblin King, that too turned out to be a bad idea. For some reason, the lyrics that popped into her head as she hummed, felt unnervingly relatable and hit a little too close to home for comfort.

_Feels like I’m standing in a timeless dream  
Of light mists of pale amber rose  
Feels like I’m lost in a deep cloud of heavenly scent  
Touching, discovering you._

Sarah groaned, squinching her eyes closed tight—as if that would magically expel thoughts of Jareth—of him pinning her against the house with the warm press of his body. She didn’t want to think about how right it felt to be in his arms. She certainly didn’t want to contemplate how getting to finally kiss the Goblin King had made every confusing, frustrating thing in her life make sense for just one perfect, fleeting moment when it had been as if they’d been the only two beings on the planet. 

Of course, the earworm of a chorus chose **that** moment to play through her confusion-muddled mind.

_I love you always forever  
Near and far closer together  
Everywhere I will be with you  
Everything I will do for you_

Nope, nope, nope! That part of the song **wasn’t** relatable at all! She didn’t feel that way about Jareth and **no** she didn’t want him to feel that way about her. That was totally ridiculous! She just had the stupid song stuck in her head because every single station overplayed it like crazy, that was it. Jareth was an arrogant jerk who thought he could make crazy, possessive claims on her after two years of being M.I.A. from her life. She didn’t need that. She didn’t need him. She certainly didn’t lo-

Nope, she wouldn’t even finish the thought! That word had no business being associated with the Goblin King, even if only used as a denial. She wasn’t going there, period. She was mad at Jareth—no other feelings than that. Period.

_Mad. Only mad. Furious even!_

“Ach. I know zat look,” Uroma’s heavily accented voice was suddenly busting through her thoughts like a sledgehammer to glass.

Sarah let out a startled yelp, nearly jumping a foot out of her skin. It was a good thing Karen’s casserole dish had been resting in the sink as she'd scrubbed at its potato-crusted surface— otherwise, it would have ended up shattering into a million pieces on the kitchen floor.

“Uroma! Dammit! Don’t scare me like that! I thought you were in the living room working on your knitting!” Sarah gasped, pressing a wet, sudsy hand to her wildly beating heart. 

How had she missed that the old battleax had snuck up beside her? Uroma only smiled that sly _‘I’ve been alive long enough to know everything’_ smile of hers.

“I know zat look vell,” Uroma said again. “You, _liebchen_ , are in love and obviously unhappy about it. You keep scowling like zat, and you vill vrinkle zat pretty face far before time.” Uroma chuckled, lifting a weathered hand to cup Sarah’s furiously blushing cheek.

“Oh! No, no, no!” Sarah shook her head vehemently. “No, Uroma. I’m not in love. The guy is a difficult, manipulating jerk with boundary issues. Love is the **last** thing I feel for him.”

Uroma only chuckled again. “So you say…but I know zat look.”

The elderly woman shook a teasingly admonishing finger at her. _“Wo man liebe sät, da wächst freude.”_

Sarah tilted her head questioningly. She knew **very** basic German, between taking two years of the language in high school and the bits she’d picked up here and there from Uroma’s yearly visits, but the meaning of what Uroma had just uttered flew right over her head.

“Ven you sow love, joy vill grow,” Uroma elaborated, and Sarah frowned anew at the use of **that** word.

“There’s no love to sow, Uroma,” Sarah grumbled as she turned back to the casserole dish, scrubbing far harder than necessary.

“Just try to open your heart. Zis man occupies your zoughts…perhaps you should not dismiss him so easily. Zat is all ze more I shall say." Uroma nodded sagely. “Goodnight, _liebchen. Ich liebe dich._.” 

With that, Uroma leaned over and kissed Sarah’s cheek before turning to make her way to the downstairs guest room she had claimed as her own.

“I love you too! Night!” Sarah belatedly called after her, trying not to be too irritated at the old gal for putting in her two cents where it hadn't been asked for.

Uroma was so woefully off base it was almost funny!

_Old people…they think they know everything…_

“Well, that _man_ is a Fae king, and he’s basically just a stalker with magical powers. So, goes to show what you know,” Sarah muttered sulkily to the now empty room.

Scrubbing complete, she thoroughly rinsed the casserole dish and dried it with a nearby dishtowel—putting it away in the cabinet with an agitated thud.

 _“You, Sarah William’s, are mine.”_  
Jareth’s words echoed in her head.

God help her…her stomach gave a weird, shivery flutter. No, she wasn’t his to claim, and he had no right to do so! She had absolutely no interest in being _his._

Maybe if she kept telling herself that it would become a hundred percent true, instead of just _mostly_ true…or even partly true…

_Maybe…_

* * *

An explosion of crystal rang out through the throne room just as Jareth flew in through the large open window overlooking the goblin city. As fluidly as shrugging off a coat, he was back to his usual form, his eyes set in a hard stare as he took in the sorry state of his surroundings. His boots crunched over a carpet of crystalline shards as he stepped forward. 

_What in the name of Danu is all this?!_

From the looks of it, several of his subjects had been building something out of the castle’s best glassware. They had failed spectacularly—the evidence laying in jagged ruins of shattered goblets, tumblers, and champagne flutes. Half a dozen wide-eyed goblins stared back at him in petrified silence, as Jareth’s narrowed, flinty stare darted around the shambles of his throne room and then again at them. The Goblin King felt the already stoked flame of his temper (thanks to one Sarah Williams) begin to blaze anew.

“You have exactly five seconds to start explaining what happened here. While you are all at it, I would also like to know why, in the name of the Gods, there is a **goat** chewing on the drapery of my throne.” Jareth willed his tone to stay level and took a sharp inhalation through his nose, his gloved hands balling into tightly clenched fists as his gaze flicked back over to the coal-black, drapery-eating goat in question. 

The beastly thing had a set of large, curved horns. A half-eaten apple was absurdly impaled on the end of one. A tatty red bow was haphazardly tied around the goat’s mangy neck, and Jareth let out a long, hissing sigh of defeat. He knew exactly what the bow signified.

“Please…do **not** tell me….”

“Happy Yuletide, Kingy! Present for you!” One of the goblins nervously gestured to the goat.

The goat let out a long, almost menacing bleat then continued chewing at the throne’s plum-colored drapery with renewed vigor.

“What in the bog do you think I’m going to do with a goat?! I already have an entire flock of chickens underfoot, thanks to all your rubbish ideas of what constitutes a good gift, but now we’re adding four-legged creatures to my unwanted menagerie? Wonderful! Bloody fantastic!” Jareth seethed.

Meanwhile, the aforementioned chickens crowded together in a nearby corner, clucking in judgmental agitation at all the commotion.

“And all my shattered crystal? Care to explain that? Hmmm?” Jareth prompted icily.

“Well…ummm…you see, Kingy, we was buildin’ a tree,” one of the goblins explained, wringing his warty, grey hands together.

“A tree?!” Jareth asked in utter exasperation.

“Yes! A Yule tree!” Another goblin chimed in.

“We thought it would look pretty made out of all the shiny glass, so we was buildin’ it all careful-like until Scoot tripped…then the whole thing came down,” a round goblin with a rusted, horned helm explained.

“It wasn’t me!” the reed-thin, green-skinned goblin (known as Scoot) piped-up in a small voice, shrill with indignation. “It was Gimp!”

“Was not!” cried Gimp. “It was Kit!”

“Liar! Stinky, bog-smelling, liar!” Kit shrieked.

That was when pandemonium broke out. All the Goblins began to lunge at one another, landing in a writhing dogpile of punching fists and biting toothy mouths. However, just as quickly as the fight broke out, it abruptly ended with pained shrieks. Apparently, rolling in broken glass was just about as much fun as it looked, which was nil. The goblins ceased their punching, biting, and tail pulling to begin to pick out the shards of crystal sticking out of their legs, feet, and bums while whimpering pitifully.

 _Bellends! I’m utterly surrounded by bellends!_ Jareth inwardly fumed.

With a twitch of his gloved fingers, the massive doors to the throne room flew open. 

“Well? Run!” he bellowed.

The goblins wisely took that as their cue. They began to push one another out of the way, in a mad dash to scramble out of the throne room—headless of their shard-covered limbs. Once they were gone, Jareth let out the bone-weary sigh he’d been holding, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. 

With another flick of his hand, the shattered crystal items reformed themselves and promptly returned to their various homes throughout the castle. The shard-afflicted goblins would now find themselves free of all embedded glass. Not that they deserved it, but it was Yule, after all, Jareth inwardly conceded. 

He had cleared all but a small pile of shattered glass, which he had purposely reserved. Shard by shard, the ruined crystal began rising and building upon itself until a fully formed goblet landed softly in Jareth’s outstretched palm. On any other night, he might drink wine, but the anger and Sarah-instigated lust that still raged inside him called for something else. 

With a baleful glare at his new goat companion, Jareth walked towards his throne, swirling the empty glass as he went. Amber liquid instantly pooled up from the bottom, until his goblet was about half full. He rarely drank liquor from Aboveground, but he did enjoy the lingering burn of whiskey as it trickled down his throat. It calmed him…and Gods knew he could do with a bit of calm after the ghastly evening he’d had. 

An hour later, the Goblin King found himself with one leg slung over the arm of his throne, as the goat continued to munch, undeterred, at the drapery that was now half gone. Jareth stared, in agitated fixation, at the same spot on the wall he’d already thrown his glass against twice—where it had shattered and immediately reformed in his hand, full once more. It would take a significant amount of Aboveground spirits to get a Fae such as himself deep in his cups. Still, he was finally starting to feel the muscles of his neck begin to relax. His mind raced through what had happened between him and the champion of the Labyrinth. 

_Impudent, ungrateful, teasing little minx!_

He couldn’t help but think of the way Sarah’s face looked after being thoroughly kissed; her lips parted just so. Oh, the way she had looked at him almost expectantly—as if everything had been entirely up to him! As if it was **he** who had denied her and pushed her away! 

_“Stay the hell out of my life Jareth, because I don’t want you in it. Now or ever!”_

For the third time, the glass hit the wall and then refilled. The satisfying crash helped ease the knot that twisted in Jareth's chest at the thought of never seeing Sarah again—of staying out of her life as she had asked. 

“Whatever she has asked for, I have always given her. Have I not?” Jareth turned his head to regard the goat who bleated (in what Jareth chose to take as agreement) around a mouthful of plum-colored fabric. “She asked that her brother be taken. I took him. She wanted a grand fairytale adventure—to live out one of her storybooks, and I gave it to her in every way possible. Well, except for the prince and the happily ever after. Instead, I offered her the hand of a king, and she bloody refused!” 

The goat blinked, chewing still.

“But this new request…to leave her be…this, I will not give her! How can I possibly entertain such a notion? I cannot stay away from her, not anymore. You can understand that surely?” he asked his hooved companion.

The goat gave an especially loud bleat, swallowing down his mouthful of sodden, chewed fabric.

“You’re a cantankerous chap,” Jareth told the beast with a grin, recalling his heated exchange with Sarah. “I think I shall call you Krampus.”

_“Well then, Krampus can go right ahead and try it. He comes here, I’ll just kick him right in his hairy goat balls, and he can go whimpering all the way home back to Hell!”_

Jareth had to laugh as he remembered his beloved’s ire-laced words. Sure, the declaration had thoroughly vexed him at first, but thinking on it now, he had to admit that Sarah’s fire and resistance to yield to him were some of the things that attracted him to her the most, despite what a pain in the arse those very traits could be at times. Alas, he also had to admit (even if just to himself) he liked it when his little mortal was angry. Her inner fire called to him—entranced and aroused him. While he never wanted to quell that fire, he did, perhaps, want to kindle it…maybe even pour a little fuel upon it. Something had to give between them, and it **had** to give that very night. He would wait no longer!

Like a prideful fool, he had denied himself for years, telling himself that Sarah **had** to be the one to cross the boundary of furthered intimacy between them, that saying the words would have to be her idea and hers alone. He had insisted that he would never again beg her for anything. He'd been utterly set in the notion that the next time she was given a choice, she would choose him and mean it. No tricks, no enchanted peaches, or crystal-fabricated illusions—just his champion voluntarily giving herself to him completely. However, just as he had during her Labyrinth run, Jareth silently conceded that he had grossly underestimated the girl.

Sarah Williams was as stubborn as any being could ever possibly be—like a boulder stuck fast in the path of a traveler…but as with every boulder, there were always ways around. He was officially done with waiting patiently in the wings.

Jareth swirled the liquor in his goblet, a slow smirk curling his lip as he eyed his goat companion, the newly dubbed Krampus. An idea was beginning to form within the Goblin King’s mind— one that made him want to throw back his head and chortle, as well as palm the thick ridge of his engorged cock, which swelled against the seam of his breeches once again. The particulars of his freshly formed plot began to shape and build upon themselves in exquisite detail.

Yes, his earlier threat about Krampus had been an empty one. Truthfully, he’d only been looking to poke the proverbial angry bear, yet the more he thought on it, he had to concede that his Sarah had been very naughty indeed, _bratty_ even. She had not only insulted him but had haughtily dismissed the very idea of other Fae acting against her. Perhaps she needed a _reminder_ that he was not the only one she should beware of.

He stood and finished his drink, letting the goblet slip from his hand—to vanish before it hit the floor. 

“Thank you for the council, my friend.” Jareth nodded to the goat who bleated, lifted his nub of a black tail, and unceremoniously shat on the flagstone floor.

Oh, well. That was a problem for the chambermaids.

The Goblin King’s laughter boomed throughout the throne room, right before he transported himself to his chambers, in a cascade of glittering light. He went straight to the timeworn trunk he hadn’t had the call to open in quite a long while. Oh, but he had just the right attire for what he had in mind!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shout-out to the LFFL group and their posting of hilarious "devil penis magic" memes, that inspired that line of Sarah's internal dialogue. I heart you funny perverts so hard. lol


	4. The Sound and the Intruder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters have been posted today (chapters 3 and 4). Just letting you all know, in case the notifications got mixed up in your email and you clicked on the link for this chapter before reading chapter 3.

Sarah stared at her reflection in the floor-length mirror in her old childhood bedroom. Her nostrils flared as she studied the red mark on her throat. It glared back at her, almost angrily—the edges already a little purple. After brushing her teeth in the hall bathroom, Sarah had scrubbed her face and neck clean, rinsing off the crap-ton of Mary Kay foundation she had slathered on over Jareth’s love bite, after Aunt Deborah’s suggestion. She would have to keep spackling on the concealer for the rest of her holiday visit, Sarah realized with a sigh. That was going to get expensive.

_Oh, joy…as if living in the city doesn’t cost out the ass as it is!_

It was especially hard, swinging city life on a teacher's salary—even a fancy private school teacher's salary. She had never lived without a roommate and had to be careful where what little disposable income she had went. Sarah supposed she could always start using the cheap drugstore concealer, but it never looked as good.

Oh well, she would just have to make use of the few turtlenecks she'd packed. That would save her at least some money on foundation. Maybe she would even bust out the white Hermès scarf Karen had given her last Christmas; which Sarah had packed just in case her stepmom had insisted she wear it. 

Wearing it voluntarily was bound to raise a few eyebrows. It would undoubtedly also draw unwanted attention to her neck—considering that the big family drama last year had been her stupidly admitting to Karen that the scarf wasn’t exactly her style. Oh, the butthurt that had ensued! Nah, she would just stick to the turtlenecks. At least the season was appropriate for them, thank god. 

With a sigh, Sarah shut off the floor lamp next to the mirror—leaving only the faint wash of tea-colored light from the small lamp on her nightstand. She was starting to stare at the Goblin King’s handiwork a little too long, and she really wasn’t in the mood to run an in-depth self-analysis on why looking at it made her tingly down south. No thanks to that!

After everyone had come back up from the basement, Sarah had hastily excused herself from watching Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer for the millionth time, under the guise of a headache—ignoring Karen’s grumbled comments about how her _“smoking habit”_ probably wasn’t helping. She almost wished it were as simple as being addicted to nicotine…because being addicted to a Fae was **so** much worse! 

No, she wasn’t addicted. She could quit Jareth any time she wanted, Sarah chastised herself. Hadn’t she done just that when she’d turned her back on him and stormed back in the house? She only hoped the Goblin King complied and stayed gone this time.

_Do you though, Williams???? Do you really????_

Sarah bit her lower lip, refusing to dwell too hard on that last thought, as she stripped down to the black lace underwear and bra, she had chosen that morning, without any real intention—she just enjoyed the way they made her feel. Truthfully, a small part of her had been grateful that Jareth had caught a glimpse of her nice bra, rather than one of her more practical beige ones. 

The vampy lace set had been a bit pricier than what her budget typically allowed, being from Bloomingdales and all, but she’d cut out a few nonessentials here and there to make up for it. Besides, it had made her feel good after the breakup. Moreover, Sarah had to admit, it stoked her female pride, knowing Jareth had liked seeing her in it—recalling those sexy as sin noises he’d made in his throat. Her pussy tingled at the memory.

_Nope. We’re thinking of non-sex-associated things now! Cardboard boxes! Drywall! That really nasty green jello Karen makes, the one with all the fruit bits in it!_

Sarah sighed once again as she moved over to her dresser. Her gaze snagged on her reflection, in her vanity mirror as she went, the soft glow from her bedside table casting shadows over her curves. Pausing a moment to study her reflection once more, a flashback of Jareth’s mouth traveling hotly over her neck down to the outline of her bra, flooded her mind…which admittedly, kinda flooded her panties as well. Her cheeks burning with a hint of shame, Sarah reached behind her back to unhook the damn sexpot bra and fling it over the back of her vanity chair. She didn’t kind of hope Jareth was silently watching, from a crystal somewhere. She didn’t!

_Liar, liar…wet, black-lace panties on fire…_

With a self-frustrated shake of her head, Sarah continued to her dresser, pulling out the top drawer with a tad more force than necessary. Her hand hovered over a practical red flannel nightgown, but her traitorous inner vixen turned her gaze to the one resting beside it. Without allowing herself to overthink it, Sarah impulsively grabbed for the second nightgown, slipping the midnight-blue silk over her head, where it slid in a shivery, fluid caress against her bare skin. 

It wasn’t an entirely impractical choice, Sarah assured herself. Her dad wasn’t a penny-pincher when it came to setting the thermostat, so the house was nice and warm—no flannel needed. Besides, the silk nightgown was loose and comfortable, hitting just above her knee. The scalloped lace edges along the neckline added just a touch of sexy-cute. However, the gown was still modest enough that if she ran into a family member in the kitchen (if a snack craving should strike in the middle of the night), she wouldn’t feel too exposed or leave anyone scandalized. However, it didn’t really matter what she wore to bed, Sarah stubbornly assured herself. She just really liked the way silk felt against her skin—no big deal.

She threw back the quilt and climbed into the white cannonball twin bed of her childhood, snatching up her copy of Stephen King’s _The Stand_ that she’d been reading, from her bedside table. Sarah fooled herself into thinking she could concentrate on reading for about ten minutes. Still, her damn uncooperative mind outright refused to focus on the grim tale of post-apocalyptic wanderers. Instead, it strayed to Jareth’s mouth, his chest pressed to hers, the delicious friction of his hardness rubbing between her legs. She felt her nipples tighten against the cool silk of her nightgown, her clit tingling in response. 

With an exasperated huff, Sarah closed the book and set it back on the nightstand—not even bothering with her bookmark, which she sat uselessly next to the novel with an impatient flick of her wrist. She clicked the bedside lamp off, slipping further under her quilt. Without thinking, Sarah found her hands sliding over the silken material of her nightgown, lingering just below her navel. Closing her eyes, she tried not to think (yet again) about the throbbing, heated demand that still tingled between her legs, and how it had all started when Jareth’s stupid, skillful lips had found her pulse point—she failed miserably. 

Her fingers twitched, inching (almost guiltily) towards the hem of her gown, but something stopped her. She didn’t want to give _him_ the satisfaction or risk the possibility of him watching. Baring her breasts for a possibly spying Goblin King was one thing, doing _that_ while thinking of the way his mouth had tasted or of the rock-hard press of his erection, was quite another. 

With yet another sigh of frustration easing past her lips, Sarah fell into a fitful half-sleep, turning and frequently tossing for the next several hours. She was jarred awake by an odd sense of anticipation that seemed to hang heavy in the dark stillness of her room, several times. Each time she'd quickly fall asleep again, with a quick, drowsy mental assurance that she was only imagining things.

The next time she was awoken, it was gradual and gentle, a repetitive sound lulling her out of her sleep, like someone quietly whispering her name. It took her several minutes to realize that she was awake in the first place, and another few moments to fully register the noise. The house had been dead silent for hours, but the rhythmic _clip-clop-clip-clop_ confused her sleep-addled brain. What was that? What was the word she was looking for? Hoofbeats! It sounded like hoofbeats, like those of a farm animal—a sheep, or a goat, perhaps. No, that was ridiculous! 

At first, Sarah’s foggy mind rationalized that it must be one of her relatives, getting up to use the bathroom. Maybe it was Karen, still wearing her prized Versace heels, going downstairs to sneak Toby’s “Santa presents” underneath the tree. However, as Sarah’s sleep-drunk senses began to ease back into focus, the drowsy haze clearing, her heartbeat began to quicken. A glance at her bedside alarm clock told her it was past two o’clock in the morning. 

Wait…hadn’t Toby stopped believing in Santa last year? Also, why would Karen still be wearing her heels at two in the freaking morning?! That was just as idiotic as thinking there was a farm animal in the house! Sarah shot upright, practically staring a hole through her bedroom door—as if she could somehow see past the white-painted wood and into the blackness of the hallway, from which the noise sounded. Cold, needling alarm shot through her—her breath strangling in her suddenly too-tight throat. 

Oh god…the clip-clopping noise sounded as if it were nearing her door! Even though her brain and reeling senses screamed at her that something was very, very wrong, Sarah felt her feet hit the cold hardwood of her bedroom floor, as if of their own volition. With a nervous lick of her lips, she took a cautious step forward…and then another…and another, towards the door.

 _What the fuck are you doing, Sarah? This is how girls get carved up in horror movies!_ Her fear-gripped mind shrieked at her. 

Despite knowing better, her moronic body still moved her forward, as if the logic of her screaming brain had somehow disconnected. Just awesome! Instead of having a typical fight or flight instinct, like most people, she turned into one of those brain-dead bimbos from every slasher flick she'd ever seen—the ones who didn’t stop to get a weapon and just **had** to stick their heads out for a little peek at the killer. With a trembling hand, Sarah gripped the cold metal of her doorknob and turned it slowly. 

She was just overreacting. There **had** to be a logical explanation for the sound. Her dad had gotten a top of the line security system installed years ago. There was no way someone could have broken into the house without alerting the whole family, with the brain-splitting blare of the alarm. 

“Hello?” Sarah called, as she eased open her door with a small creak.

_Oh god, Williams, what are you doing?!_

Straining to hear over the loud pound of her heartbeat in her ears, Sarah waited on bated breath to hear Karen or Toby, or maybe her father, assuring her that they had just gotten up for a glass of water. The hoofbeat sound abruptly silenced as soon as she spoke. No familiar (and much-needed) assurance came from the thick blackness of the hall. 

Why in the hell did Uroma’s accented voice suddenly murmur in her mind?

_“Milia svore to me, that the night Erich vent missing she had voken up to a noise in ze house. Hoofbeats, she told me.”_

Oh, god…could Jareth’s warning have had any bit of truth to it? He had seemed awfully cocky when he’d made that threat earlier—like he’d known something she hadn’t.

_Shit…_

If she dared to turn on the hall light, was there going was a huge, horrible goat monster looming in front of her, poised to beat her with a switch for being bad? 

_No, this is so freaking stupid! Krampus isn’t real! Jareth was just using Uroma’s story to get a petty rise out of me._

Still, even as Sarah reached out, her hand creeping along the wall, fumbling blindly for the light switch, she felt the rising press of anxiety smother the air from her lungs. She braced herself, trembling fingers sliding over the cold metal of the switch plate.

_Do it already! Turn on the goddamn light!_

Placing a finger beneath the switch, she took in a deep, shaky breath and flicked the switch upward with a loud _snick!_

Blinking away the sting of the bright light that abruptly flooded her vision, Sarah turned her head left and right, then left again—her eyes rapidly adjusting. Nothing but the empty hallway stared back at her. She let out a noisy exhale, every previously tensed muscle in her body suddenly going slack with relief. She shook her head, laughing softly at her own ridiculousness. Her mind and ears must be playing tricks on her. It was all the fitful sleep—that and all the weird, confusing emotions stirred up by Jareth’s earlier visit. That must be it.

With that comforting self-assurance, Sarah switched off the light. However, the very second darkness reclaimed the hallway, the hoofbeat sound echoed anew.

_clip-clop-clip-clop-clip-clop_

Sarah’s entire body froze. It was coming from somewhere off to her left, and it sounded disturbingly close.

_Oh-god-oh-god-oh-god! What is that?! Why has no one else woken up?!_

A sudden thought clicked into place inside her brain, instantly banishing her fear in favor of hot, bristling agitation. Sarah remembered the way her cousin’s eyes had lit up during Uroma’s story, and this was **exactly** the type of stupid, mean-spirited prank a teenager would pull!

_clip-clop-clip-clop-clip-clop_

“Mallory! Is that you?!” Sarah whisper-hissed in the darkness, her suspicion confirmed with the clopping abruptly stopped once again. “This is bullshit, Mal! You’re going to wake everyone up! I hope you think it was worth it, cause I’m so telling your parents tomorrow!”

She waited, listening for the sound of Mallory’s giggle, or a muttered _“Aw, man! Be cool! Don’t tell!”_ Stagnant silence was Sarah’s only reply.

Angrily gritting her jaw, Sarah felt her way back up the wall to the light switch, quickly flicking it back on. The little butthead wanted to play, huh? Oh, they’d paly! No one woke her up at two AM! Yet only brightly lit nothing met her squinting eyes when light washed through the hallway once again. Sarah turned her head to glare at the bend in the hallway—off to the left, where the sound had been coming from. Mallory must be around the corner, hiding. Honestly, Sarah conceded, she was too damn tired to chase her cousin. If they woke up the whole house in the process, then there would be nothing but long, drawn-out drama. Frankly, she just didn’t have the energy for all that.

“Go back downstairs and go to bed, Mal!” Sarah whisper-shouted as loud as she possibly could, without achieving the volume that would wake anyone. “You keep this up, then _I’m_ going to pretend to be Krampus and beat you with a switch! Hell hath no fury like a sleep-deprived adult kept awake against their will!”

There wasn’t so much as a peep in reply. Sarah figured Mallory was having a quiet _“oh shit”_ moment. The inconsiderate little butt would probably soon slink back down the stairs, silently embarrassed. Well, if her bratty cousin thought she was getting off that easy, she had another think coming! Tomorrow, after everyone had opened their presents and had their customary breakfast of Christmas tree-shaped waffles and pepper-crusted bacon, Sarah silently vowed that she was going to squeal on Mallory like a stuck pig!

_Screw with my sleep and I get nasty!_

With one last withering scowl aimed at the hallway bend, Sarah switched off the light once again, turned on her heel, shut her door, and lumbered back to bed. No sooner had she slipped back beneath her quilt and closed her eyes, the damn clopping started back up again.

“Oh. My. Freaking. God. Mallory!” Sarah groaned as she sat up once again—the strangling of one stupid teenager at the forefront of her mind.

_clip-clop-clip-clop-clip-clop!_

Her cousin’s ridiculous clomping was coming from right outside her door. Seriously? How was no one else awake and yelling at Mallory to cut it out? It was so loud! Apparently, she was the only one in the house who wasn't an insanely deep sleeper. 

Her cousin obviously refused to drop the joke just yet, because the door handle of Sarah’s room began to rattle. Sarah rolled her eyes. Really? She could be getting some much-needed sleep, and instead, she was dealing with this immature, high school prank, bullshit. 

That was it! She was **so** going to speak up against her dad inviting his brother and his family next year. Sarah was going to insist that Mallory stay the hell away until the passing of time had matured her a bit because this was just ridiculous!

The door creaked open a tiny bit.

 _Oh, no…gee…I’m so scared…_ Sarah thought with another roll of her eyes and an agitated huff of her breath. 

She wondered how deep in the dog-doo she would find herself with her family if she really did find something to switch her cousin with…cause there was a baton (leftover from her high school marching band, majorette days) still in the closet.

_Might be worth it…_

Sarah scowled as the door nudged open a little wider, a wash of moonlight, streaming in from her window, illuminating it enough that clicking on her bedside lamp was almost unnecessary. Sarah opened her mouth, ready to verbally rip Mallory a new one, but the words abruptly withered and turned to ash right on her tongue. The tall owner of the broad, black armor-clad shoulder that pushed her door open the rest of the way was definitely **not** her cousin!

Sarah froze, forgetting to breathe, every muscle in her body locking as terror seized her. 

_clip-clop-clip-clop-clip-clop_

The dark, black-clad figure moved further into the room. Sarah immediately guessed it to be male, judging from size and stature alone. Her panic-glazed mind faintly registered that the clopping sound had been a pair of heeled boots, which she ascertained from a quick downward glance. No hooves…but omg…there **were** horns! They were massive and black as pitch, curling out wickedly from the hood of his long, obsidian, fur-trimmed cloak—glinting menacingly in the moonlight.

 _“Milia said zat ven she heard ze noise, she vent to peek out of her room. It vas dark and she did not see much, but she svore she saw a tall, dark figure, in a black cloak…”_ Uroma’s haunting words played through her reeling mind.

The horned figure’s face was obscured by the inky shadow provided by his hood, and frankly, Sarah wasn’t sure she ever wanted to see what horrors lay beneath the dark cover. The horned intruder sidestepped backward, with a few short _clomps_ —pushing the door closed with his back. It was then Sarah noticed that his hands, encased in black leather gauntlets were full, one holding what looked to be a large black bag, big enough to fit even an adult. The other held a long, thin, wooden rod. If she had to guess, she’d guess it to be made of birch.

 _Oh-god-oh-god-oh-god-oh-god!_  
Sarah inwardly screamed.

He was freaking real! Krampus was real!!! Her mouth opened, working uselessly to release the cry of terror she felt building at the back of her throat. Not so much as a single squeak came forth; the rush of adrenaline-coated fear spiking through her body had apparently frozen her vocal cords. Maybe that was for the best, Sarah reasoned with bleak certainty. If she screamed, her family would come rushing in…and who knew what he would do to them. Who the hell knew what he was going to do to her!

With that stomach-lurching thought, it was like Sarah’s brain had finally kicked into gear—releasing her body from whatever terror-induced catatonic state she’d been trapped in. Her hand flew out, quick like a shot, and clicked on her bedside lamp. If she had to fight this thing, she couldn’t do it in the dark. A weapon! She needed a weapon! 

Sarah quickly grabbed the first two things she could get her hands on. Her fear-stiffened fingers numbly closed over her copy of _The Stand_ and the porcelain Precious Moments figurine Karen had given her for her birthday six years ago. She vaguely recalled that she hadn’t liked the silly figurine enough to even bring it back with her when she had returned to college after that visit. The figurine featured a cartoony, doughy-faced little blonde girl who gazed down at a partly hatched egg, which was opened in a perfect half-oval (like some sort of science-defying compact mirror) and contained a sleeping baby chick. 

Honestly, Sarah had no clue why the kitschy things were such a big deal; she’d always found them kinda dumb. So, she had no trouble gripping the silly figurine by the base and forcefully cracking the little porcelain girl’s head against her nightstand, until only jagged shards remained of her little blonde head. Not the most ideal shank, but Sarah supposed it was better than nothing. 

Glancing back up at the cloaked figure and using the lamplight to her advantage, Sarah now clearly saw that his horns were actually part of an intricate black leather mask, made to look like a goat’s head. It completely covered the wearer’s face—nothing but the hood-shadowed glint of eyes (which she couldn’t discern the color of), shone back at her in the dim light, from behind the leather barrier. 

So, Krampus wasn’t actually a goat-demon, but a scary, leather-wearing Fae. It made a certain kind of sense. All figments of legend were bound to get misrepresented due to human nature often creating a burning need to exaggerate. It didn’t matter one way or another, Sarah supposed—as long as the Krampus Fae had soft, meaty parts she could stab her Precious Moments shiv into, she just might have a chance. All that armor was going to be a problem, though. 

Also, the animalistic angled features of his mask were going to make it difficult for her makeshift weapon to get at the one non-protected spot on his body—his eyes. Maybe if he came closer, she could tear his mask off and **then** she'd cut him in his freaking eyes! 

He took a few steps forward, and Sarah tried in vain to swallow past the tight, choking lump in her throat.

_Clip-clop-clip!_

Acting off adrenaline-fueled impulse alone, Sarah purposefully gripped her copy of _The Stand_ and lobbed it at the hooded Fae’s fake-horned head. So, her dad had been right when he had told her throwing wasn’t her strong suit, back when she had whined about her softball coach not making her the team pitcher when she was twelve. 

Krampus easily dodged her makeshift projectile, with a lazy sidestep. The book hit the shelf behind him with a loud bang, knocking down her small hoard of toys and games Sarah had preserved from her childhood—the stuff she had refused to let Karen give to Goodwill when she had decided to give her room a more sophisticated look when she’d turned seventeen.

Her old wooden maze marble game crashed to the floor, the top of the wooden maze popping off on impact. The contained marbles rained everywhere, making it sound as if there was a mini hailstorm in her room, with a deafening chorus of _tap-tap-tap-rattle-rattle-tap!_  
Sarah’s gaze flicked back to her door, tensely listening for the sound of her name shouted, followed by the thumping of feet frantically running down the hall. Nothing! 

Apparently, her entire family could sleep through anything. It was a good thing, Sarah reminded herself once again. Human beings couldn’t fight the Fae and win. She probably didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in Hell, but at least she wouldn’t go down without giving Krampus a buttload of trouble for his efforts…and at least her family wouldn’t get entangled in her mess. 

The masked brute, who stood (still silent) across from her, gave the game/marble mess a cursory glance with a subtle turn of his hooded head. Before Sarah could even begin to rally her panic-dazed brain and waning courage to bum-rush him, Krampus snapped his attention back to her. He advanced upon her bed with a slow, careful _clip-clop-clip-clop-clip-clop_ , expertly avoiding any stray marbles that lay in his path, as if he could see any potential tripping hazards without even having to look down.

_Too bad the scenarios in Home Alone are completely ineffectual on the Fae!_

“Stay back, or I’ll cut you good, goat-boy!” Sarah glared at him, making a few stabbing motions in the air with her Precious Moments shank—to show him she meant business.

Krampus stopped for a second. No sound came from him, but she could just barely make out that his armored shoulders were shaking beneath the mantel of his fur-trimmed cloak. Was he laughing at her?! Seriously?!

“I don’t get it! Why come after me?!” Sarah gasped as he resumed his approach. “I mean, there’s serial killers, rapists, pedophiles—why not go after them?! If anyone deserves to go to Hell, it’s people like them!”

Krampus said nothing. Only came close enough so that his armored knees brushed against the side of her bed. Sarah scrambled back, as far as she could get until her back hit the headboard. A quick, desperate glance to the marble-cluttered floor told her that trying to scramble from the bed would have her slipping and busting her ass. She didn’t have Fae superpowers.

“I warned you. Get back!” Sarah made a few more demonstrational air-stabs with her makeshift shank.

_You’re going to have to take your chance with the marbles, Williams! Just see if you can spot a clear path…_

The only problem with that plan was that it was next to impossible to scout out a marble-free route and keep her eyes on _goat-boy_ at the same time.

_Fuck!_

Krampus tilted his masked head, seemingly studying her broken figurine, turned weapon, once again—and again, he did that damn shoulder-shake thing.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me; this isn’t funny!” She hissed.

Krampus remained eerily silent as he sat his birch rod and bag on the foot of her bed. Sarah eyed him warily, holding her shank at that ready—unsure of why he would do something as boneheaded as set his weapon down around a desperate person.

With that, the goaty-weirdo did something **really** unexpected and even more boneheaded. Krampus plopped down to sit beside her as if she had just invited him to a freaking slumber party! 

_What in the actual hell?!_

With Krampus now crowding her space at her left, and the wall (in which her bed was pulled flush up against) at her right, Sarah made the snap decision to take a gamble. Frantic, she tossed her quilt back and dropped her shank. It was too stumpy and would be all but useless against Krampus’s armor. Besides, it would just get in the way of what she was about to do. Sarah’s heart felt as if it would pound clear out of her chest, as she scrambled (on hands and knees) to the foot of the bed. She had just gripped the cool wood of the birch rod with her right hand when she felt a strong, leather-clad hand close around her left ankle.

_Shit!_

With a firm tug, Krampus yanked her towards the headboard, towards him.

_No, ya don’t, goat-boy!_

Bracing herself on her right elbow, Sarah flipped to her back as best she could, with Krampus’s hand still gripping her tight, she tried to take a swing at his head with the birch rod. He released her ankle and caught the rod in mid-air, with effortless grace and otherworldly quickness. He tugged it from her white-knuckled grip with ease and tossed it to the floor, where it landed with a clatter. Why would he do that?! Wasn’t he supposed to beat her and drag her to Hell in his bag? 

Winded and bewildered, Sarah watched the goat-masked Fae slowly ease back against her headboard. He paused to pick up her pathetic Precious Moments weapon, where it lay, half-covered in her rumpled quilt. With one last head-tilting examination of the stupid thing, he tossed it to the side, where it too landed on the floor—giving up the ghost entirely with a loud _crack_ as it hit the hardwood. 

With that, Krampus pulled his long legs up and carefully eased them to the side of her. The bed let out a small creak as he stretched out a bit, his leather-clad arms crossing behind his hooded head as he lounged back, his booted feet casually crossing at the ankles.

_What. The. Fuck?!_

She should be trying to make another break for it, Sarah’s shock-dazed mind insisted. Yet somehow, she just couldn’t tear her eyes away from the figment of European nightmares, making himself comfy in her bed, like he was settling in for storytime. It was just too damn weird!

It was then that a sudden notion clicked inside her head.

“Wait…you’re not actually trying to hurt me…you’re just screwing with me!” Sarah accused breathlessly, “You know the Goblin King, don’t you? He put you up to this, didn’t he?”

Her fear drained from her to make way for white-hot indignation when Krampus once again shook with silent laughter. However, it wasn’t long before the shaking was accompanied by the sound of **actual** laughter—slightly muffled by the goat mask. Even muffled, it was an oddly familiar-sounding laugh…with a smooth, almost musical quality to it…

 _Wait just a goddamn second!_ Sarah inwardly screamed, belated realization hitting her like a pillowcase full of bricks.

Just as the identity of the hooded creeper fully sunk in, _Krampus_ unfolded his arms and tugged off his goat mask. Sarah’s vision tunneled on the Goblin King’s laughing face, as she sucked in a hissing breath of dagger-sharp outrage.

“Mother fucker!” She shouted.


	5. The Name, the Words, and the Abduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:**  
>  Just so we’re all on the same page going forward, this isn’t a dark Jareth fic, but he’s very much morally ambiguous in this. He’s super manipulative and he gets what he wants any way he can. While he’d never hurt Sarah, he’s definitely no prince on a white horse. This also isn’t meant to be an example of the ideal relationship by any means. It’s just trashy, fun entertainment. So, just keep that in mind (as well as the tags). Thanks.

Seriously, how had she not guessed it was him the second he’d clopped into her room?! He thought he was so damn clever, threatening her with Uroma’s story, then showing up in costume to scare her, and she (like a **total** idiot) had bought his stupid, obvious prank—hook, line, and sinker! 

Sarah’s cheeks flamed with humiliation, and before she could second guess the impulse, she scrambled across the bed and plopped herself on Jareth. Without giving him a chance to try and stop her, she straddled his waist (heedless of the way her nightgown rode up her thighs) and rained open-handed slaps over his chest and shoulders.

“You stupid jerk! You scared me to death!” She shrieked, still pelting him with ineffectual slaps against his leather armor. 

The Goblin King only gave her a wide, wolfish grin, his gloved hands coming to rest on her outer thighs, exposed from the riding-up of her nightgown. His thumbs moved in small, caressing circles against her heated skin, which elicited an involuntary shiver from Sarah—her rage ebbing, making way for an entirely different emotion. 

Her hands immediately stilled; her body suddenly very aware of how she and Jareth were positioned. A demanding, tingling ache suddenly made itself known between her legs, her nipples budding against the silken brush of her nightgown. Horrified by her body’s instantaneous reaction, Sarah tried to scoot an immediate retreat off of his lap. He’d just scared the life out of her, why the hell was she suddenly turned-on?! Being terrified had apparently fried her brain. 

The Goblin King, however, was having none of her attempted withdrawal. He gripped her hips purposefully, pinning her to him—his mismatched eyes glinting with an unspoken challenge. With a flex of Jareth’s fingers against her thighs, Sarah suddenly felt warm palms against her skin instead of leather. She locked her jaw, refusing to grant him the satisfaction of the breathy sigh that suddenly wanted to push past her lips at the sensation of his skin against hers. 

“Let me go, Jareth!” She growled, giving his armored chest another hard smack—her palm stinging with the effort; the Goblin King didn’t so much as flinch. 

Sarah pointedly ignored the inner voice that taunted her with a smug _“you don’t want to go anywhere…”_

“On the contrary, love. I won’t ever be letting you go again,” he replied, honeyed satisfaction dripping from his tone. “You see, I did warn you that Krampus would come for you…and come for you he did. You’ve been a **very** naughty girl, Sarah Williams. Now it’s time to pay the price.” 

Why did his words make her ache **everywhere**? She should tell him to screw off, especially after what he had just pulled. Yet Jareth’s dual-colored gaze burned into hers, making Sarah feel as if he could see straight through her, to the very essence that constituted her soul. She suddenly found herself entirely loathing the idea of leaving his lap. 

He looked at her as if he wanted to devour her. God help her…she wanted to let him do just that—no matter how inappropriate and boneheaded the notion. Her traitorous body silently cried out that it would gladly pay whatever price he demanded and damn the consequences. Sarah’s breath caught in her throat as she felt the heated press of Jareth’s palms travel up from her thighs, long, nimble fingers sliding right under the bunched hemline of her nightgown. 

_What in the hell is wrong with you?! What are you even doing???_ She silently asked herself, as she allowed Jareth’s hands to slide up and into her nightgown. Not a single peep of protest issued from her lips. 

This was one of the reasons she had forced herself to walk away when they’d been out on the front porch. Whenever Sarah got too close to the Goblin King, her body went rouge and all but begged to be putty in Jareth’s more than capable hands. It had never been an issue before because he’d never really touched her until earlier that night. While her nicotine addiction might have been a crock of shit, Jareth was a much more worrisome (and powerful) vice, especially since he now suddenly seemed to think that there was no line he couldn’t cross with her. 

As if he could read her mind, his hands crept behind her, shamelessly disregarding yet another unspoken boundary. He squeezed at the globes of her ass cheeks, through the black lace of her panties, his fingertips lightly digging into the soft, fabric-covered flesh. 

“Oh no…oh god…” she murmured, her eyes closing in half-lidded surrender, her ass arching into Jareth’s eager, groping touch.

 _What the hell, Williams?_

She was supposed to be furious, she reminded herself. She was **supposed** to tell him to fuck right off. Yet Jareth’s dark chuckle, as well as the positively ravenous way he looked up at her through the cover of his lashes, made her feel just the exact opposite of furious. It made her feel needy, wet, and hot—like she’d die if he didn’t touch, lick, and kiss every square inch of her body. 

“I’m flattered, dearest, but you may call me Jareth,” the Goblin King grinned at her use of the moniker. “Or there’s _Your Majesty…My King…Master_ ,” he paused to arch a brow at her. “And one day, soon... you shall call me _husband_.”

“Ha! Yeah, right!” Sarah rolled her eyes, the shock and ridiculousness of that last statement sobering her from her lust haze just the teeniest bit. 

Was there a hint of excitement dancing through her now as well? Did the word _“husband,”_ said in that panty-melting British-like drawl, actually cause a shivery, fluttering sensation to stir low in her belly? No, no, it didn’t—that was just residual anxiety leftover from the insane stunt he had just pulled. That was all. 

“If you don’t buzz-off before my dad wakes up and finds you in here, the only thing I’ll be calling you is _dead meat_ ,” Sarah retorted tartly. 

It was an empty threat. For one thing, she knew her dad wouldn’t stand a chance against a Fae king with magic powers. Secondly, if her father hadn’t woken up with all the earlier clip-clopping, shouting, and commotion, there was no way he’d wake up from just the sound of their talking. 

“I’m not concerned about being interrupted by your father or anyone else in your household. They’ll all sleep soundly until morning,” Jareth replied in a decisive tone that gave Sarah pause.

“Why do you say that like it’s a fact?” Her eyes narrowed and her head tilted at him in suspicion. 

“Because I might have cast a deep sleeping enchantment on everyone in the house, except for you,” the Goblin King smirked at her, utterly unapologetic. 

Sarah let out an exasperated sound from low in her throat, trying to roll off him once more. Still, his unrelenting hands pinned her in place, gripping her ass like he owned it.

“You can’t just do stuff like that!” She hissed, smacking him once more in his armored chest. “You can’t just go sneaking into my family’s house, scare the crap out of me in the middle of the night, and give my family the equivalent of a magic Valium! What’s wrong with you?!”

“Your family will have the best slumber of their lives. They’ll have wonderful, rosy dreams and awaken feeling more rejuvenated and invigorated than they have ever felt in their entire existence. My Yule present to them,” Jareth replied simply, devoid of remorse. 

“Again,” Sarah glared down at him, “you can’t just do things like that! What the hell has gotten into you?! Two years, no contact whatsoever, and now you’re showing up uninvited, pulling a B and E, and casting roofie spells on people! You’ve gone insane!” 

Then again, was it all really **that** out of character for the Goblin King? She thought back to her Labyrinth run: the cleaners, the oubliette, the bog, the giant golden robot thing with an ax practically the size of Central Park, the attack of the goblin army…

So maybe his recent actions weren’t all that unusual (for him), Sarah thought with a deepening frown. Still, after how subdued Jareth had been over the last ten years, it was all a bit… **much**. 

“If I’ve been driven mad, precious, it’s because of **your** cruelty.” 

With that, Sarah found herself flipped and pinned beneath him at a speed that just wasn’t humanly possible, the weight of Jareth’s armor-clad body pressing her into the narrow mattress before she could so much as blink. 

“My cruelty!?” She spat in exasperation, trying not to think of how her legs instantly wanted to wrap themselves around his armored hips. “Who scared the bejesus out of whom, just now?!”

“Let me ask you something, Sarah mine. How do you suppose that giving two years of your life away to someone who was laughably beneath you was any less frightening for me? Do you have any idea what that did to me? Watching you with him when he treated you like a bit of rubbish stuck beneath his shoe? Every passing week you spent with him, I worried that one day you would wed him, bare his offspring, and spend the rest of your life existing only as his dishrag!”

As he spoke, Jareth’s face had gotten ever closer to her own, his feathery blonde hair falling to frame his angular face. She felt the tips of it tickling her cheeks every time he huffed out a breath. 

“That petrified me, Sarah. I **agonized** over the life we might never share together, and then you went and entertained the idea of being with yet **another** unworthy mortal! Do you want me to tell you that when you told your stepmother that you would consider a second outing with him, it gutted me like a rusty blade? Is that what you want to hear, dearest? Do you want me to tell you how I kicked the railing of the deck at the back of your family’s home, like a child throwing a tantrum?” he asked, eyes blazing.

His words made her stomach bottom out, like the sensation of free-falling. Sarah wasn’t entirely sure if it was a good sort of free fall or a bad one. She knew that what Jareth had just said made her mouth dry, her palms sweaty, and her heart feel as if it might explode straight out of her ribcage. That was about all she was sure of at the moment.

_Well, at least why he made a thumping noise makes complete sense now..._ She mused absently, as her mind raced with about a million and one other thoughts, all stirred-up by Jareth’s declaration. Her headspace felt as if she had just taken a stick to a nest full of angry hornets.

“But…why didn’t you just tell me this? Why just stew in silence about me being with Kevin?” she asked, incredulous.

“I could ask you much the same. Why not just give me what I want—what I’ve always wanted? Why go through the tedious pretense of a romantic attachment to someone else when we both know that you’ve been mine from the very first time we ever set eyes on one another. Why pretend that I don’t occupy your thoughts and your dreams…because we both know that I do,” he murmured, leaning in so close now that his lips brushed lightly against hers when he spoke.

Jareth’s heady scent invaded her senses, sweet notes of amber and leather making Sarah feel almost drunk on him. The feel of his body pinned against hers, the teasing brush of his lips…she wanted him to kiss her again. She wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and bury her fingers in his soft, feathery hair. She wanted his bare hands all over her heated skin. She wanted to give in to the impulse to wrap her legs around his hips—to never release him. 

However, she also wanted to yell at him. To rant and rave about how ridiculous this whole thing was, how ridiculous he was in particular. Also, what did he mean about knowing he occupied her dreams? He couldn’t possibly be aware of her recent subconscious fantasies...could he?

Sarah wanted to ask him about it, along with about a billion other questions that suddenly burned at the forefront of her mind. However, the only question that seemed to successfully touch down on her tongue and breeze past her lips was:  
“And what is it that you want, Jareth?”

The near-feral smile that spread across his face told her that Jareth had been hoping she would ask that question. Her heart pounded in her chest, and Sarah wondered if she’d made a mistake asking what she had.

_“Too late now…”_

The voices of those weird, talking hands she had encountered on her long-ago Labyrinth run suddenly echoed through her mind. 

“Well, love. As I’ve mentioned before, I want what is mine. I gave you a small taste of what I meant earlier. There’s been enough talk. Now, I think it’s high time for a much more thorough demonstration,” his tone was a low, promise-laden purr that sent a heated throb instantly pulsing between Sarah’s thighs.

He wasted no time gently kneeing her legs apart so that he could lie directly between them. Her heartbeat roared in her ears as he sat back on his knees and coaxed her to sit up. Sarah complied, half of her brain screaming at her that she was the biggest moron on the planet, the other half of her impatiently demanding to know why they weren’t naked yet. Jareth tugged at the hem of her nightgown, and Sarah found herself instantly lifting her hips to accommodate him as he drew the gown up her thighs and past her ribcage.

“As much as I adore you in silk, I **need** to look at all of you,” he told her hoarsely, unabashed longing burning bright in his eyes.

Christ…that look…it did things to Sarah, made her sense of reason fly right out the window, as she all but bid it a fond farewell. She let out a breathy sigh of anticipation, lifting her arms, as Jareth pulled her nightgown up and over her head. He tossed the piece of sleepwear aside as if it had somehow offended him, still sitting back on his knees, as she settled back against her pillows. 

Her bare breasts felt heavy as Jareth’s slow, appraising gaze raked over them like a lingering caress. Her nipples were set in hard, aching peaks. Whining pleas for him to _please pinch them, tease them, suck them,_ built in the back Sarah’s throat, but she stubbornly refused to release them out into the small space of her old bedroom.

“Perfection…” Jareth murmured reverently, making her heart flutter and a fresh well of moisture gather in her panties.

_Wait, are you really going to do naked-type things with the Goblin King right now?! Really, Williams? After he broke into your family’s house? Put a sleeping spell on everyone, and made you think he was Krampus, coming to drag you to Hell in his bag? What in the freaking world is wrong with your brain right now?!_

It was then that a dark kernel of doubt began to work its needling way into her thoughts—said thoughts shooting from her lips like a busted, spurting faucet before she could rethink them.

“Wait,” Sarah told him, moving her hands over her breasts, shielding them from his greedy gaze. “What if you did something to me, like you did to my family? What if what I’m feeling for you is an enchantment? Like the peach, but instead of forgetting everything this time, you’ve turned me into some crazy horndog whose brain has turned to mush inside her skull? Because this isn’t logical, or sane, like **at all**!”

Jareth recoiled a bit—as if her words were stones hurled at as his face, evident hurt glinting sharply within his eyes. His brow furrowed, and she watched as several emotions shifted and flexed across his ethereal features: wounded pride, a touch of anger, sadness, regret, and perhaps even a smidge of quiet understanding. Sarah just lay there, curiously drinking it all in. 

The uncomfortable tension mounted between them as she tried and failed to get a firm read on him. What was he thinking about so hard that she could practically hear the whirr of gears within his mind? Why did she even care?

“As much as it pains me to concede this, dearest, I can see why you would ask me such a question. It is not the nature of my kind to be forthright,” Jareth began, on the tail end of a deep, weary sigh. “While it is hard to regret any move, on my part, that brought me closer to you…I do, however, lament the choice to take away your memories during your Labyrinth run. Even though it is my right as king to play the game as I see fit, I should not have directly toyed with your mind. It was wrong of me. I let my desperation to prevail, to... keep you, cloud my mind and I…” the Goblin King gave a pained-looking grimace, “…apologize.” 

_Jareth, apologizing? Well, that’s unexpected …_

She blinked up at him, not quite knowing what to say. Sure, he looked about as enthused to say the words as someone about to undergo a root canal with zero Novocain, but he’d said them. Sarah had to give him _some_ credit.

“As far as being able to trust what you’re feeling for me, I give you my word that I have no wish to influence you magically. I want you to choose me and mean it. I want your sincerity, above everything,” Jareth told her, and even though he looked and sounded as if he meant what he said, Sarah couldn’t entirely dismiss the feeling of unease that gripped her.

He seemed to pick up on her lingering sense of misgiving. “What if I were to offer you a way to ensure that you won’t do anything you don’t absolutely want to? A certain... power, over me?” he asked, and the genuine nervousness that pinched his features made Sarah instantly intrigued.

The only other time she’d seen the Goblin King look at all nervous was during their standoff in that weird room in his castle—the one that was remarkably like her old M.C. Escher poster. So, this small crack in his usually cold, arrogant demeanor was a definite cause for curiosity.

“And what way would that be?” she couldn’t help but ask.

“Have you ever heard stories of the power of using a Fae’s true name?”

“Yeah, of course. I was a huge fairytale nerd when I was younger, as you might have guessed. I just assumed stories like that were a load of B.S., like Iron hurting your kind. I saw iron all over your castle when I came to get Toby. Also, the myth of never being able to return to the human world after you’ve eaten Faerie food. I ate your peach and was still able to come back. So, I assumed the true name thing was a complete crock. Are you saying it’s not?” Sarah inquired.

“That’s precisely what I’m saying. I’m willing to give you my true name, Sarah... trusting that you won’t use it in ill will against me, trusting you won’t ever utter it to another soul. If I give it to you, you will have the power to make me do whatever you please whenever you say it, whether I will it or not. If you doubt what you are feeling is genuine... if you doubt that anything you do with me is of your own volition, then use my true name. Make me stop. Simple as that,” he explained.

Sarah stared at him for a prolonged moment. Was he for real? Did he want her that much that he would just turn over that sort of control? The idea of that made her all sorts of confused…yet she couldn’t deny the notion made her heart beat a little faster. A giddy sort of elation fluttered all through her body, taking up residence low in her belly—making her feel as if there were a million little beating wings inside the pit of her stomach. 

Why did she suddenly want to strip him of his armor, wrap her arms around him, and stretch out on top of him until they were lying heartbeat to heartbeat? Why did she suddenly want to cling to him and never let go? 

“Well, what is it then? Your true name?” she asked, with an almost haughty, challenging, upward tilt of her chin—trying to remain cool and collected or at least hold up the appearance of it.

Jareth gave her a long, searching look as he lowered himself back on top of her, easing himself to lie between her thighs once again. This time Sarah didn’t ignore the impulse to wrap her legs around his waist. Her ankles locked behind his back, as she silently relished the feel of his soft, fur-trimmed cloak against her skin, as well as the hard press of his leather armor just beneath it. Her arms went around his neck, greedy fingers threading into the insanely soft hair at the back of his head.

_“…and I will be your slave…”_ Jareth’s long-ago words came drifting back to her once again, over the ever-widening chasm of passing time.

Could he really feel that strongly about her that he was willing to give her that opportunity for real? Could she trust him? Probably not…but damn, did she ever want to.

“My true name,” the Goblin King murmured, bringing his face so close that his lips were a ghost-like brush against hers once again, “Is Jareth Jun Whitefeather…and I give you this gift, Sarah, because your will is most definitely as strong as mine and your kingdom as great. ”

Sarah couldn’t help but smile at the clever reuse of the words she had once wielded against him, her heart feeling weirdly full. She shivered, not knowing if she imagined the low, almost inaudible hum in the air or the strange, almost corporeal energy that curled around them, pulsing like a heartbeat. 

Maybe it was just the power of suggestion within her mind—that something **should** happen. Perhaps just having Jareth close, wrapped up in the clutch of her thighs, made her brain loopy. Either way, Sarah **had** to test the legitimacy of the supposed gift he’d just given her, because really, how could she not?

“Bark like a dog, Jareth Jun Whitefeather,” she ordered him, a smirk tugging at her mouth. 

The immediate, high-pitched yipping that burst from the Goblin King’s throat, as if he were doing an impression of a Yorkshire terrier, was enough to have Sarah in immediate stitches. The cutting glare Jareth shot her as he continued to carry on like a territorial lapdog warning off the mailman was enough to have tears of laughter running down her cheeks. 

Sarah suddenly found herself grateful that he had cast a deep sleep enchantment on her family. Otherwise, trying to explain to her dad and Karen why she was nearly naked, with a strange, barking, leather-clad man on top of her, would have been interesting, to say the least.

Okay, so the true-name thing was legit, Sarah conceded. The Goblin King would **never** voluntarily do something so degrading, judging from how red his face was getting as he yipped on. Oh, he was pissed with a capital P!

_Whoopsies…_

Sarah thought, with a complete lack of sincerity or regret. Jareth more than deserved the payback for his Krampus prank. 

“Okay, okay,” she wheezed, “stop barking, Jareth Jun Whitefeather.”

The barking abruptly cut off, and the Goblin King took in a slow, deep breath.

“Oh, but I will enjoy punishing you for that later, pet.” He glowered down at her.

Something about that heated threat made her pussy clench in response, as Sarah slowly licked her lips, loving how his temper-clouded gaze locked on her mouth with the action.

“Is that a threat or a promise?” she teased, not knowing what to do with the sudden knowledge that even Jareth’s anger made her hot and bothered.

“Both.” He growled, dipping his blonde head and latching his mouth to the unmarked side of her throat.

She’d soon have a matching love bite there too, Sarah thought as a breathy moan of pleasure escaped her lips, when he mercilessly sucked at her tender skin. Somehow, she couldn’t quite bring herself to care, her earlier worries of concealer cost popping like a soap bubble in midair.

Yet there were still two unresolved matters that prodded at her and would not—could not—be pushed away. They dug at her consciousness like small, sharp pebbles in her shoes—a couple of loose ends to be tied, before she let whatever the hell that was happening between her and the Goblin King continue.

“Tell me, Jareth Jun Whitefeather, I need to hear it again, this time with you unable to lie to me…” Sarah began quietly, feeling Jareth’s body instantly tense against hers at the repeated use of his true name, “…are these feelings for you really my own?” 

Jareth let out a long, weary sigh against her throat. Sarah felt him take his mouth from her saliva-slicked skin and immediately wanted to whine aloud at the loss.

“You are nothing if not thorough, Darling,” Jareth let out a mirthless chuckle. With his face still pressed close, the action sent gentle vibrations dancing across her neck. “I commend you for it, but the truth remains the truth. I have done nothing to influence you magically. You, my sweet, are behaving delightfully wanton all on your own. I told you. I want the choice to be yours, and I meant it.” There was an audible vein of hurt running through his words, and Sarah wanted to demand he turn his head and look at her. 

However, she doubted her courage would hold long enough for her to ask her next question if he did. Jareth’s intense, brooding stares had a way of crumbling her inner resolve to useless bits. Frankly, it had been an absolute miracle that she’d made it through the entire Escher room confrontation, while pinned by his pleading gaze. Sarah already felt like she was in way over her head and hopelessly drowning in the deep end. 

The Goblin King’s response to her first question had already sent her on a wild inner tailspin of contradictory relief and stomach sinking dread that she couldn’t even begin to make sense of. So, the demand for him to turn his head remained unvoiced. She didn’t need yet another obstacle in her path. She needed the truth, all of it. So, with a quick, deep breath to fortify her determination, Sarah asked her second question.

“Tell me the truth, Jareth Jun Whitefeather, how do you really feel about me?”

At last, Jareth brought his tousled head up to fix her with a hard stare, his jaw twitching oddly as if he was struggling against the compulsion that she had just placed upon him. Sarah stared back, completely uncowed, hanging on bated breath. She hadn’t realized just how much she’d needed to know the answer to that question until she’d let it out into the open to hang heavy between them. 

Her pulse hammered mercilessly, her stomach clenching. He wouldn’t be able to lie to her. The knowledge of that was both extremely thrilling and somehow terrifying. If only he’d stop fighting the compulsion, like the stubborn jerk he was, and give her the goddamn truth!

“I love you, Sarah Williams,” Jareth answered at last, in a rush of pent-up breath.

Sarah’s heart stuttered wildly against her ribs. 

“I love you more than I love myself,” he went on, “which is truly saying something for a Fae. I love you more than I love having all the time in the universe at my disposal, which is something that cannot be said of **any** other being in all of existence. I once told you that I would move the stars for no one. It was a lie. I would have puzzled out how to accomplish it if you had truly wanted it so,” he told her sincerely, a small hint of resentment for having the words involuntarily drug from him glinting in his mismatched eyes.

Sarah felt a small twinge of guilt, but only a **very** small one. She had needed to be one hundred percent certain of the truth…and now that she knew, it was damn hard to regret how she’d come about such precious knowledge. She hadn’t expected such powerful words to come tumbling out of Jareth’s mouth, and now that they had, she didn’t quite know what she was feeling, but she was **definitely** feeling something. 

A dizzying kaleidoscope of emotions swirled within Sarah, snatching her breath from her lungs, plucking every coherent thought from her head. The only thing she could focus on was Jareth. Her arms around his neck were like the tether of a lifeline. The oddly comforting press of his armored body grounded her, keeping her from floating away, adrift on a wave of whatever the hell it was that she was feeling. 

How was she supposed to respond to what he’d said when she couldn’t make sense of her own emotions? She wasn’t certain words were even within her capability at the moment. So, Sarah didn’t talk, she didn’t think. She only acted. 

Lifting her head from her pillow, Sarah brought her mouth to the Goblin King’s in a hungry, desperate press. With a groan from deep within his throat, Jareth’s response was instantaneous, parting his lips for the eager slide of her tongue. This time his mouth tasted like whiskey - that smooth, caramel flavor of bourbon, with just the barest hint of smoke. He’d been drinking. That explained all the ridiculous behavior. But then again, it could very well just be Jareth being Jareth.

Sarah couldn’t bring herself to care either way. She kissed him with every last bit of frantic, needy energy that coalesced within her as if she were desperately trying to pour it from her mouth into his. The heated slide of their tongues was almost violent in their urgency. Her fingers tightened in his hair, her legs giving his leather clad hips a flexing squeeze. 

God...why did she suddenly feel like she couldn’t possibly get close enough to him? Even if Jareth were to pull off her panties and sink to the hilt inside her (which she was starting to want with an alarming fervor), Sarah suspected she’d still feel the clawing, illogical desperation to burrow herself inside his very essence somehow. Apparently, she’d gone insane.

Never had Sarah come even remotely close to wanting someone with that sort of intensity. Yet she was beginning to understand that this sort of passionate ferocity for Jareth had been lying dormant within her all along. He’d simply awoken it when he’d pinned her against the house, when he’d kissed her for the first time. 

Now Jareth had created a monster and small part of Sarah vaguely worried that she’d never be able to regain control over her newly roused hunger for him. Did she even want to, especially after what he’d just told her? Nope. Not really.

“Touch me…please,” she panted against his mouth, arching her hips insistently against his.

She was desperate for friction, and the feel of his hands smoothing over her every peak and valley.

“Gods, precious…” Jareth murmured with a low groan, sounding almost pained. “The sound of you begging is far sweeter than I imagined. You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

“Then show me, Your Majesty…” she challenged breathlessly, a teasing grin shaping her lips.

Sarah didn’t have to ask twice. With an almost animalistic growl, he fiercely reclaimed her mouth. She mewled impatiently against the silky stroke of his tongue on hers. Good god, the man could kiss like no other, but she needed his touch like her lungs needed air.

“Is this what you want, Sarah mine?” Jareth purred into her mouth, pulling back just enough to nip at her lower lip, his hands leaving their respective places by her shoulders on the mattress.

Before she could so much as nod an emphatic _‘yes, dear god, yes!’_ Sarah felt his fingers ghost up and over her ribcage. With another impatient whine of protest, she was just about to snap at Jareth that he could go to straight to Hell with all that light, teasing crap, when two warm palms encased her breasts, making her hiss with an instant rush of satisfaction. 

Long fingers kneaded her soft flesh, Jareth’s palms slowly dragging over the turgid peaks of her nipples in a toe-curling slide of delicious friction.

“It’s a start…” She moaned her belated response against his lips, arching her back as best as she could against the press of his weight, her hips grinding restlessly—trying to get closer to him any way she possibly could. 

Jareth chuckled. “Greedy little thing,” he admonished fondly, nipping again at her lips as he trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down her neck, collarbone, and sternum.

Christ…his mouth felt like heaven on her heated skin as he slowly inched his way lower. Soft worshipful kisses feathered over the top of her right breast, his lips parting to allow his tongue to draw lazy, curling patterns on the rise of the creamy globe.

“Perhaps _this_ is what you would prefer?” he asked, shooting her a dark, promise-laden look from under his lashes that could only be described as sinful, just before he sucked the rosy bud of her nipple between his teeth.

A broken gasp shot past Sarah's lips as Jareth suckled. He bit lightly, letting his teeth drag along the hard peak as he popped it from his mouth, only to re-latch with renewed enthusiasm. His tongue then languorously spiraled around her nipple, as if to ease the sting his teeth had created—only to repeat the process over and over. Sarah writhed against him, her fingernails raking lightly against the back of his head. Her body hovered on the razor’s edge between pleasure and pain, and each wet pull of Jareth’s mouth summoned an answering throb of her clit.

Sarah was on fire, and Jareth seemed to both know and relish that fact, shooting her a devilish grin that made her core clench in anticipation as he moved on to her left breast, biting, sucking, licking. Christ, she was going out of her mind! With every wet glide of his tongue, every sucking tug of his mouth, she was painfully aware that he wasn’t giving that sort of attention to the one spot on her body that craved it the most. 

Not quite brave enough to voice what she wanted aloud, Sarah bucked her hips wildly, trying to express without words just where she wanted Jareth’s talented mouth. Kevin had whittled down her confidence regarding such things, to a pathetic nub. He’d been one of **those guys** —always eager to practically shove his dick in her face, but when it came time to reciprocate, he would jump straight to putting the _P_ in the _V_. Any direct requests for Kevin to put his mouth on her had been treated with an air of annoyance and thinly veiled disgust. Jareth though…Jareth seemed to have zero trouble picking up on her cues and eagerly moved to comply—trailing heated, adoring kisses over her ribcage and quivering abdominals as he went.

“I want to hear you say it, darling. I want you to know that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with asking me for what you want. I’ll never deny you, love,” Jareth murmured, his eyes shining with sincerity as he hooked his fingers through the waistband of her panties at either side of her hip.

A small flutter of anxiety stirred in Sarah’s belly at the thought of voicing what she craved out loud. Kevin had always said that he wanted her to talk to him about sex stuff too. What he’d meant was that he had wanted her to fluff his ego, to praise his performance to the high heavens, regardless of if she’d thought he had earned it or not—and if what she wanted didn’t strictly comply with what he wanted, then too bad. 

However, there was an air of genuine desire to please her in Jareth’s demeanor, one that Kevin had never displayed. So, when the Goblin King sat back on his knees once again and began to tug her panties downward, Sarah responded with a complying, almost shy lift of her hips. With only a small amount of shifting, the scrap of black lace was quickly tossed to the floor, leaving Jareth kneeling before Sarah’s bent and slightly parted knees. His gaze was intently fixed upon the well-groomed, closely trimmed thatch of dark curls between her thighs, just barely visible between her parted legs.

“Tell me what you want, Sarah,” Jareth insisted, dual-colored eyes still fixed on her sex, licking his lips in a manner that could only be described as _ravenous_.

“I…” she began hesitantly—two years of living with the idea that her pleasure should always come as an afterthought (or not be thought of at all) made her feel weirdly embarrassed and hesitant to do as he asked.

“Tell me,” Jareth said again, his eyes fiercely burning into hers, a steely undertone in his words, letting her know that it was a command, not a request.

Damn…why did him acting all bossy suddenly turn her on even more?

_Figures that he’d be a commanding king in bed, as well as out of it…_

Something about Jareth’s no-nonsense tone emboldened Sarah. The raw, barely restrained want that was so clearly painted across his expression told her that his response wouldn’t at all be like Kevin’s, that is was safe to tell him what her body needed, that he’d gladly welcome it.

With a resolved upward tilt of her chin, Sarah let the words roll off her tongue before she could talk herself out of it. “I want you to lick me.”  
A muscle ticked in the Goblin King’s jaw, and that air of barely checked self-control that emanated from him intensified.

“Show me where,” his voice came harsh, almost angry sounding, but the intense, burning desire blazing in his eyes told her he was anything but. “Spread yourself open. Show me what is mine. Show me where you want my mouth.”

_Oh…oh my god…_

Her clit gave a demanding throb—telling her that she **had** to do as he said right that very second, his command making Sarah lightheaded with desire. However, she couldn’t help but feel a bit unprepared to be with someone like Jareth—the sensation of jumping into the deep end when she could hardly dog paddle, cresting over her with a wash of renewed anxiety.

Her past sexual partners had only consisted of Kevin and (before him) Seth, a Bronxville townie who had worked at her favorite coffee spot during her Sarah Lawrence years, who she’d had a “friends with benefits” arrangement with for a while. Just like Kevin, Seth hadn’t been especially skilled or generous in the bedroom, and also just like Kevin, he’d been obsessed with quantity over quality.

Yet Sarah wasn’t about to let her lack of overall experience deter her. Jareth was all dark, shivery promise, and pussy-tingling command. She felt she more than owed it to herself to explore what he offered, after nothing but mediocre (to outright awful) sex. Maintaining eye contact, she spread her legs as wide as possible—one bent and resting at an angle against the wall on her right, the other hanging over the side of her narrow bed.

“Now, spread your pretty cunt,” Jareth ordered harshly, his jaw twitching once again. 

Why did the shamelessly dirty way he ordered that make her even wetter? Hadn’t she been furious earlier, for him staking a barbaric claim on her body? Now though…it was just making her hot as all hell. Sarah felt a new rush of wetness further slick her—her stomach clenching and her face flaming with a mixture of excitement, self-conscious embarrassment, and a dash of doubt regarding her sanity. 

_But, despite everything, you know you want him. You always have…_

With slightly shaky fingers, Sarah reached down and parted the glistening lips of her pussy with both hands, baring her wet, pink folds for Jareth’s intense, quiet scrutiny. Why did it feel so weirdly right, offering herself to him like that? Why did it feel perfectly natural, waiting for him to take command of her body, of her pleasure?

The Goblin King let out a strangled sound from low in his throat.

“Beautiful…beautiful and mine…” Jareth whispered hoarsely, sounding of barely kept restraint—both his pupils blown eerily wide.

His eyes almost appeared to darken, lending his appearance even more of an otherworldly fierceness, which made Sarah audibly gulp. How was it possible for someone to be both the most gorgeous being she had ever laid eyes on and a living figment of unsettling, macabre dreams at the very same time? 

This time, when Jareth made his bold claim, however, Sarah noted zero self-resistance, inward or otherwise. God have mercy on her soul… but she **wanted** to be his. There was no denying it any longer…no matter how the logical part of her brain (which was no longer in the driver’s seat) screamed at her that she was being irrationally reckless.

Suddenly Jareth was a blur of nonhuman agility. One second he’d been kneeling in front of her on the bed, the next he was kneeling on the floor, just in front of the leg Sarah dangled over the side of her mattress. With a quick, fluid tug of his hands on her thighs, he guided her body, pulling her to face him, scooting her bare ass towards the edge of the mattress. When she gave him a quizzical tilt of her head, Jareth was quick to explain.

“Apologies, my love. Your miniscule cot of a bed won’t properly accommodate me lying on my stomach to feast upon you,” he told her bluntly.

He cast a narrowed stare of offense at her footboard, which would have undoubtedly been an awkward obstacle for him, given his long legs. Breathless from his unapologetically blunt statement, Sarah scarcely had time to nod her agreement before he was positioning her legs, pulling her just to the edge of the mattress. 

“Don’t worry. You won’t fall,” he murmured, hooking her knees over his shoulders like they belonged there, her thighs spread widely in front of him. She leaned back slightly on her palms, staring down at him.

Sarah’s heart felt like it was about pound clear out of her chest with the way it thundered against her ribs, her throat going dry as Jareth took a long moment to admire her spread wide for him, like some sort of lascivious offering, with lust-darkened eyes.

“Never, in all my long existence, have I seen a creature so lovely…” he murmured as he looked up and captured her gaze with his, sincerity ringing in his words, as he reached up with both hands to smooth a prolonged caress on each of her inner thighs.

Sarah shivered at the contact, trying to suppress the ridiculous urge to weep, the anticipation was so intense. 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she told him in a choked whisper.

In all honesty, he was so much more than that. In fact, Sarah doubted there was even a man alive more appealing to her than the Goblin King. He was the sort of guy artists painted portraits of and singers devoted entire albums to…and there he was, crouched between her thighs.

“Not so bad, you say?” He shot her a devilish smirk. “Oh, precious, I am utterly certain I can do so much better than _not so bad._ ” 

With that, he moved his right hand to run a slow, burning trail to her slit, lightly tracing the moisture-coated seam of her femininity with his index finger. He delved between her lips, dragging his finger slowly, teasingly against her inner folds, from top to bottom. Sarah’s hips gave a violent jerk when his fingertip brushed once, hard, over her clit—a hiss escaping from between her clenched teeth. Jareth took his hand away, and she instantly wanted to scream, to demand he continue right that instant, every cell in her body straining, craving him beyond all reason. 

However, when Jareth brought his suddenly glistening finger to his mouth and sucked it clean, a low hum of appreciation coming from him, Sarah about died. She watched, riveted, his eyes falling closed as if savoring her flavor, and the unspoken demand that he get on with things, which had been building at the back of Sarah’s throat, abruptly dissolved into a needy whimper. 

“You, my love, taste divine. Just as I knew you would,” he purred, running his finger over her folds once again, gathering more of her shining juices.

Did he have any idea what that did to her? Jareth talking dirty in that whiskey smooth, imperious voice, his response to the taste of her like it was the best thing to ever hit his tongue… **damn**! Sarah was beginning to wonder if she’d even survive the experience because her heart felt like it might very well explode inside her chest at any moment. 

Of course, leave it to the Goblin King to outdo himself. Sarah watched him with glazed, half-lidded eyes as he reached for her right nipple, coating it in her moisture with small, circular caresses that made shivers dance along her spine. She had no clue what he was up to, she just knew she liked watching him do it. A ragged gasp tore from her throat when Jareth leaned up and closed his eager lips around her nipple once again, sucking her sticky juice from the hard bud with a rough, tugging drag of his mouth. 

Why was that one of the hottest she’d ever seen a guy do in bed? It made Sarah feel like she was burning from the inside out. She felt almost dizzy as she watched Jareth repeat the process on her left nipple—crying out when he gave that one a sharp nip with his teeth. 

Again, she felt a hot rush of pleasure, mixed with the sharp sting of pain. It made Sarah ache from the roots of her hair to the tips of toes, inwardly crying for more. Did he not understand that she would freaking die if he kept up his inhuman torment much longer?! 

As if Jareth knew that he held her at the trembling precipice of a near breaking point, he shot her a wide, self-satisfied grin that could very well rival Lucifer himself. His searing gaze never relinquished hers. He trailed his tongue in a silky, wet trail from her left breast, down her abdominals, dipping briefly in the small crater of her navel, then over the smooth expanse of her thigh…right down to her needy, wet center. Sarah let out a choked moan as Jareth spread her lips with his middle and index fingers. He then gave her a long, slow lick with the flat of his tongue, from the top of her slit, down to her perineum. 

Sarah’s toes curled around the empty air, where they hung over the tops of his shoulders. She waited, arms shaking as they precariously held her upright, breath caught in her throat, for another prolonged lick from Jareth. He only chuckled. When she shot him a blistering glare of impatience and indolently ran the tip of his tongue in a wide teasing circle around her clit. The cruel, incorrigible jerk only licked the surrounding folds and purposely left the sensitive little bud untouched —denying her the pleasure where she needed it most. 

Jareth retracted his tongue back behind the barrier of his lips, and Sarah let out a sound that bordered somewhere between a woefully frustrated sob and a grunt of anger-tinged exasperation. Not to be rushed, he then puckered his previously grinning lips and blew teasingly on her damp pussy, eliciting a violent shudder from her body at the cool, almost ticklish sensation.

“Jareth…please…” she whimpered, thrusting her hips upwards in a vain attempt to get his mouth back on her.

“Oh, but I do so love it when you beg, Sarah mine,” he smirked, gave her wet flesh one last teasing puff of breath, then grasped her thighs in each of his warm hands, pulling her close as if she were his last meal.

With the new positioning, Sarah’s core was directly aligned with Jareth’s mouth, her thighs caging his head in, which was just fine by her—more than fine. It was fucking fantastic, in fact, considering that he seemed to be done with his shameless tormenting and wasted zero time respreading her lips and latching onto her clit. 

Sarah let out a shrill scream that once again made her guiltily thankful for the sleeping enchantment he’d had cast on her family. Jareth’s tongue danced against her clit in a toe-curling swirl, sending a shock of heated pleasure throughout her body. She didn’t ruminate on her guilt for long, though. Another relentless pull of the Goblin King’s incredible mouth had her back bowing, chin jabbing towards the ceiling, as she let out another string of needy moans. Yet another hard suck followed, and Sarah’s trembling, straining arms abruptly collapsed under her weight. 

However, her back didn’t hit the mattress, nor did the top of her head crack painfully against the wall. Instead, she fell back on something silky and incredibly comfortable. A glance over her right shoulder revealed that she had fallen back on a sizable pile of satin pillows that hadn’t been there before, their plush softness cradling her head and back perfectly. A questioning look down at Jareth earned her a sly wink as he released his firm latch upon her clit to flick at the sensitive nerve bundle with the tip of his tongue. 

“I did tell you I wouldn’t let you fall,” he murmured. 

God…was there ever a sexier sight? Cause Sarah was suddenly confident that it would be impossible to top the view she was currently being treated to, as she began to move her hips in rhythm with the feather-light brushes of the Goblin King’s tongue.

“So wet…so perfect, darling…” Jareth whispered against her tingling flesh, his mismatched eyes burning into hers.

The unbridled adoration shining within their depths made Sarah’s heartbeat stutter, her mind whispering to her that as long as she lived, she’d never forget that look, not ever. Why did she have the weirdest urge to repeat those three crazy, potent words that had tumbled from Jareth’s mouth moments before? She couldn’t possibly feel that way about him, could she? It was all just lust and the heat of the moment, making her brain loopy, right? The fact that she was letting him eat at her while her family was asleep in the house, after he’d snuck in and scared her senseless, didn’t speak too highly of her current mental state. Still…the heavy notion of feeling something _more_ lingered.

That train of thought didn’t get to travel far though, as without warning, Jareth slid two fingers into her sopping wet channel. He pumped her pussy in short, aggressive strokes, crooking his digits so as to hit that special spot inside her that made her eyes go crossed. Encouraged by the prolonged gasping moan that spilled from her mouth, Jareth alternated between sucking hard on her clit and lashing back and forth with his tongue. Sometimes he twirled it in intricate patterns against the bundle of nerves, which made her hands fly to his hair, her fingertips lightly digging into his scalp—her cries increasing in volume by the second.

“Jareth…yes…oh god…yes!” she mewled as she felt the tell-tale tingling pressure of an impending orgasm begin to build low and heavy in her groin—eagerly grinding herself against his incredible mouth as if to chase the heat blossoming there.

The muscles in Sarah’s stomach drew taut, heat spreading over her face and chest—her entire body straining towards that inevitable, delirious fall. She was so close, she just needed a little more—a few more seconds of that phenomenal tongue swirling over the tip of her clit, faster and harder and hotter until… Jareth suddenly drew his mouth back, his pumping fingers stilling inside her.

_Wait! What?! No!_

The ascending climb Sarah’s body had been working towards abruptly cut off, all but sending her crashing back down to earth. She sagged back on the pillow mound behind her, her gripping hands falling from the tangle of Jareth's hair to smack the wide pillow pile at each of her sides. She gave a short huff of frustration, disappointment baring down on her, thick and smothering. 

Sarah was just about to open her mouth and demand to know why in the world he had stopped, when Jareth’s mouth was suddenly back on her again—his tongue flicking at her swollen clit in light, airy strokes, his fingers resuming their pumping, slow and gradual this time.

All that came out was a frustrated moan as once again, Sarah began to climb towards climax. Her back arched against the pillows; the sweet ache Jareth created anew between her legs somehow promising to be even more intense than it would have been if he hadn’t stopped. His suddenly gentle ministrations seemed to fan the flames of sensation even hotter. The tip of his tongue flicking slow and teasing over her clit was just about the most exquisite form of torture one could imagine. 

The room filled with her desperate, breathy moans, and Sarah felt herself begin to quicken, her pleasure nearing the point of becoming too intense to handle before the inevitable burst of sensation, her hips moving in a slow grind, in rhythm with the barely there lashes of Jareth’s tongue. Oh god, he felt…so…damn…good! She was almost there again—her breath stalling in her lungs as her body tensed in anticipation of the impending crash of the wave that was looming over her. She only needed the tiniest bit of increased pressure…then…

Then he stopped again!

 _What. The. Hell??!_

A low groan of frustration tore from her throat.

“Wha…what?! Why?!” She sputtered.

Jareth only chuckled, his eyes glinting with a telling spark of mischief.

“Well, precious, before you can come, I’m going to have to insist upon something,” he drawled, his voice as dark and smooth as black velveteen, his mouth so close to where Sarah wanted it that she could feel the warm puff of his breath teasing over her wet pussy.

Sarah frowned down at him. What the hell did he mean? What was the Goblin King going to insist on at a time like this?! What kind of game was he trying to play? She didn’t have the patience for any--

And then Jareth’s sinfully talented tongue was back, spiraling over her clit in a way that made her forget her own name. His fingers pistoned in and out of her slick heat with renewed enthusiasm. All thoughts of what he’d just said flew from her mind as she felt her body begin to hum with pleasure once again. But then his mouth was straying, peppering her inner thighs with slow, taunting kisses, his smirking lips shining with her moisture.

“What…the hell…Jareth?” she gasped, the warm haze of lust beginning to dissipate, to make way for bristling agitation.

“Ah-ah-ah,” he tsked. “If you want to come, you have to say your right words.”

“Huh? What are you talking about?” she huffed, then nearly screamed when he recaptured her clit between his lips and gave her pearl a series of hard, quick sucks that made her heart jackknife against her ribs, her fists gripping in the pillows piled at her sides. 

Then he released her, drawing back once again and Sarah all but sobbed in frustration.

“You’re going to have to make a wish, darling,” Jareth purred, his lulling voice the very sound of temptation itself.

Just before Sarah could open her mouth to snap that she _wished_ he’d stop yapping and just get her off already, his tongue darted and curled over her clit once again, her would-be words fading into a breathless gasp of ecstasy. 

“You have to start with _I wish_ ,” he murmured, removing his fingers and dipping his tongue inside her entrance in their stead, briefly lapping at the warm, sticky wetness gathered there. 

“…But why?” She whimpered. 

Sarah's lust-addled brain refused to entirely focus on anything other than her burning need to fall over the edge Jareth had precariously placed her on.

“Humor me, love. Say it,” he persisted, licking his lips clean and returning his fingers to her slick core, pumping slow and firm.

His thumb teased lightly over her clit, but it was just short of the firm pressure Sarah needed to send her flying off to nirvana. When she impatiently bucked her hips against his touch, to try and increase the pressure on her own, Jareth thwarted her by removing his hand altogether. The insufferable prick then lowered his head and gave her only one quick lick, ignoring her tortured whine as he looked up at her, grinning like the cat who ate the canary.

“Do you want it? Then say it,” he murmured, teasing the tip of his index finger all around her throbbing, needy bead, purposely avoiding the sensitive sweet spot—to Sarah’s ever-mounting frustration.

Jesus Christ! She wanted to slap him, kiss him, screw him senseless all at once! Why was he always such an obstinate ass about everything? Furthermore...why did that kind of turn her on?! His words instantly brought forth the memory of him offering her a crystal, in his outstretched hand, ten years ago.

_“Do you want it?”_

Hell yes, she wanted it! Was that what he was getting at? Was the Goblin King purposely trying to remind her of the past as some sort of kinky powerplay? Was he trying to demonstrate that he had more power over her than she wanted to admit? Because as much as it galled Sarah to admit it (even if only to herself), he **did** have power over her, just as she had power over him, if she were to take his earlier declaration of love to heart. 

She wanted Jareth…for more than just one night. As impossible, reckless, and stupid as it may be, she was tired of pushing him away for the sake of sensibility. Fuck sensibility! Kevin had seemed like the safe, sensible choice at first. The “nice” guy. And then he’d turned out to be anything but. Trying to play it safe had gotten her nowhere good—screw safe. Sarah suddenly wanted to throw caution to the wind. 

If Jareth needed a bit of roleplay to soothe the hurt of her past rejection—to feel like he’d conquered the champion of the Labyrinth, then fine, so be it. They’d gone this far, so why not go for the whole enchilada? After all, she had used his true name to make him bark like a dog and give her information he’d previously been unwilling to give. Maybe it was her turn to give a little. Besides, she was curious about what he wanted her to _wish_ for. 

“Fine,” she grumbled in hesitant concession, “I wish—there. Happy?”

Jareth chuckled and gave a slight shake of his head, the motion making his jawline nudge each of her inner thighs. Christ, why did he look so freaking sexy, looking up at her from between her legs like that?

_Ugh…stick a fork in me. I’m done._

“No, pet. You have to say more than that,” Jareth told her, dipping his head and once again capturing her clit between his lips, giving it a series of quick, hard pulls with his greedy mouth.

Sarah screamed, returning her hands to the back of his head, tangling her fingers in his wild mane. Yet, just as he’d demonstrated with the scattered marbles, Jareth seemed to have an uncanny, otherworldly sense of things—including when she was about to come, unfortunately. He withdrew his mouth, **again,** and Sarah had to breathe through the urge to smack him in the back of his head.

“You have to say, _I wish the Goblin King would take me_ ,” he prompted, and when she hesitated, he gave her an encouraging twirl of his tongue, backing the warm heaven of his mouth away after mere seconds.

Oh, god! Her entire body was on fire! The building tension was going to kill her! He needed words of submission? He wanted her surrender? Fine. She could play that game. 

_Everyone has a kink. This one isn’t bad. I’ve heard of much worse. Besides, it’s the truth. I do want him to take me—every which way in fact._

“I wish the Goblin King would take me,” Sarah answered breathlessly, with a none too subtle lift of her hips, silently begging for the return of his mouth. 

“That’s very good, Sarah mine,” Jareth purred his approval. “But…” he paused to give her a teasing lick that made her shudder against him, “I need you…” he paused again to slip his fingers back inside of her, curling them to brush against her G-spot just right, “…to say the rest.”

“Th-The rest? Re-rest of what?” she stammered, on the end of a throaty moan, her body straining towards the warm buzz beginning to build within her core once again.

She just needed a few more, good, hard strokes of Jareth’s amazing, capable fingers, …but of course…the bastard stopped again. 

“Say it, Sarah. Say it. Say _I wish the Goblin King would take me away_ ,” he pressed, a sharp intensity glinting in his eyes that gave her a vague sense of pause.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a barely there wisp of her better judgment urged her to be cautious, urged her that certain words and the Fae were a bad combo. However, the facts were facts. Sarah’s brain wasn’t the part of her body that was currently calling the shots. Raging horniness and all those crazy, confusing emotions she felt for Jareth (the ones that she didn’t care to pick apart just then) were flooding her mind, drowning out all sense of reason.

“I wish…the Goblin King…” She began, letting impulse eat away at the fraying edges of her reserve.

It was only pillow talk. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t a child. The Goblin King only spirited children away. This was just some fantasy of Jareth’s—the champion of the Labyrinth begging the big, scary Goblin King to take her.

 _I’m not so sure that reasoning is a hundred percent legit, Williams…_

“Go on. Say the rest, love,” Jareth urged, encouraging her on with continued pumps of his fingers, instantly chasing away her lingering doubt in favor of the dizzying, toe-curling sensation he created within her.

Sarah gasped, she could feel herself slipping towards the hazy mist of the edge once again, her hips urgently riding out the rhythm his pumping fingers set her on.

“Say the words, Sarah mine.” The Goblin King gritted out between clenched teeth as if he too were barely holding on by a ragged thread, his head turning to nip almost impatiently at the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. 

God…the look on his face—demanding, pleading, confident, and venerable all at once. For some weird reason, that look made her want to promise him the world.

“I wish the Goblin King would take me away,” Sarah murmured, hissing when Jareth brought the pad of his thumb back to her swollen clit, working it in time to enthusiastic thrusts of his fingers as if rewarding her for each thing she did right.

Oh god, she could feel herself clenching tight around his digits—that telling rush of heat returning and doubtlessly painting her skin a florid shade of rose.

“Right now. Say _right now_!” Jareth’s eyes blazed with a sort of manic urgency that Sarah really ought to have found concerning. 

His thumb quickened, pressure increasing with each drag back and forth across her clit. Instead of being cautious she locked her ankles behind his cloaked back, gripping him tight with the desperate clutch of her thighs and calves.

“Right now! I wish the Goblin King would take me away, right now!” Sarah gasped out, her back arching as she once again felt herself begin to quicken, her head swimming with a blooming rush of pleasure.

The wolfish grin that spread over Jareth’s could be described as a combination of glowing gratitude and smug triumph, which Sarah found vaguely weird if she was perfectly honest with herself. The atmosphere around them seemed to change, her room suddenly feeling as if it was charged with a strange, alien expectation. As if the universe was holding its breath, waiting. Waiting for what exactly, she hadn’t a clue. 

However, she only had about half a second to ruminate on what was probably just her imagination before Jareth was murmuring to her, his voice low and thick with undecipherable emotion. “Perfect, love. Perfect. You’ve done so well. You have yet to understand just how happy you have made me this night, but you will soon enough. Now…my queen, you may come.”

With that, his hungry mouth was suddenly back on her, devouring her—banishing away the lingering questions that had popped into her mind with his loaded declaration. It was suddenly impossible to think of anything other than him and the pleasure he was giving her as he latched onto her clit once again and sucked, hard. 

Jareth's fingers pumped, hitting that special spot inside her with every determined stroke. Sarah’s fingers tangled tighter in the Goblin King’s hair to the point that she briefly considered that she might be hurting him, but at that point, she wasn’t sure she cared.

She came undone, every nerve in her body unraveling and going up in a white-hot flame, her vocal cords straining as she screamed her climax towards her shadowed bedroom ceiling. Her thighs squeezed either side of Jareth’s face, her body seizing as he continued to lap at and finger her clenching pussy. He mercilessly wrung every last drop of pleasure that he could from her, as Sarah rode out the fierce wave of her orgasm.

She wasn’t entirely sure how long it took for her to return to her perspiration-coated body, but when she finally did, for a split-second Sarah wasn’t sure if she knew her own name or even what planet she was on. All she knew was that her body still hummed with delicious aftershocks and that she had collapsed, momentarily spent, back onto the pile of silken pillows. 

Jareth was now next to her on the bed, leaning over her, his hair even more wild than usual thanks to her grasping fingers. God…he was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at him. When he brought his fingers, still coated in her wetness, to his mouth once again (licking them clean while she watched), her core clenched, and her panting breath became even more ragged. 

Without a second thought, she reached for him, pulling him to her. She never wanted Jareth to leave her bed, no matter how small it was or how many awkward explanations she’d owe her family in the morning. His mouth claimed hers, and Sarah could taste the mellow tang of herself still coating his tongue. Somehow that stoked the fire of her need for him anew. Her pussy clenched, making Sarah all too aware of how empty she suddenly felt and how badly she needed Jareth inside her, filling that empty, aching space.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” she murmured against his mouth, giving the side of his cloak a meaningful tug.

“All in good time, my love. But now, we must take our leave, I’m afraid,” Jareth replied, matter-of-factly, gently pulling away. 

Sarah watched him stand and collect his birch rod and mask from the floor, a cold wash of confusion suddenly prickling within her. What the hell did he mean by _“take our leave,”_ she wondered, with a touch of unease. He wasn’t actually expecting her to go anywhere with him, was he? Not after _that!_

Jareth held his goat mask by one leather sculpted horn, grouping it with the rod in his left hand. He then strode over to the foot of her bed, deftly avoiding scattered marbles as he went. Afraid to voice her sudden concerns, silently dreading his potential answers, Sarah watched with narrowed eyes as the Goblin King picked up his forgotten sack from the foot of the bed. He came to stand in front of her, holding the sack so it gaped open—her confusion and apprehension growing by the second.

With a wide, triumphant smirk, Jareth gave the sack a light shake, canting his head towards it. 

“Now, precious, get in the bag.” 

Sarah shot upright. He had to be joking, right? She could see satisfaction and eagerness written plain across Jareth’s ethereal features, but there were zero traces of lighthearted mirth. There was also a glint of serious determination shining at the back of his dual-colored eyes that made her stomach give a nervous little lurch.

“Why the surprise, darling?” Jareth tilted his head regarding her doubtlessly appalled expression. “Krampus takes those who have been naughty, and you, my sweet, have been **very** naughty indeed.” He licked his lips for emphasis. “Besides, you just wished for me to take you away. So, like the generous soul that I am, I shall take you. I have always done as you asked, haven’t I? You are mine to keep, considering there is no one awake to challenge me for you. Such a pity.” 

The Goblin King chuckled, his slightly pointed teeth glinting in the dim lighting, reminding Sarah of a wolf baring his fangs at a doomed lamb. Why in the world did a small part of her find that sexy? She was fucked in the head, and clearly, so was he.

“Well, you can just piss the hell off! I didn’t mean it! I said it in the heat of the moment. I didn’t think it was an actual real wish!” Sarah protested.

She pointedly ignored the voice in the back of her head that told her that maybe, just maybe, a part of her had suspected the possible outcome of saying those words…and she had uttered them all the same.

“What’s said is said,” he drawled, lifting his shoulders in what Sarah would almost describe as a shrug, if she thought he would deign to do something so inelegant. 

“But the Goblin King only takes children!” she protested, her eyes sweeping the floor for her discarded nightgown.

Where the hell had it gone? She was so not having this argument with him while in the buff! A few short clicks of his heeled boots told her he had stepped closer. Hearing them now, after the fact, she wasn’t sure how she had confused them for a goat creature.

“And just who told you that?” Jareth asked, looking genuinely amused. 

Sarah wracked her memory and immediately felt her face begin to grow warm with embarrassment.

“Well…the little red book implied it, and I guess I just assumed…” Great. Now she felt all sorts of stupid. 

“You do know the old Aboveground adage about assuming, correct?” Jareth raised one upswept brow at her, his grin growing wider by the second.

 _Never assume. It makes an ass out of you and me…or it just makes an ass out of me, in this case._

Right on the heels of Sarah’s regret suddenly came a fierce spike of anger.

“No, this is bullshit! You tricked me. You made sure I was-" her face heated even more, at the memory of Jareth’s head buried between her legs, and Sarah was reasonably sure she probably resembled a beetroot at that point, “ -distracted. I would never have said the words otherwise!”

The Goblin King looked about as convinced by that statement as he would have been if she had just declared herself the queen of jolly old England.

"Ah, but that’s not entirely true, now is it, love? You, Sarah, have always been remarkably clever. You bested me when you were only fifteen, as much as it pains my pride to recall that. Deep down, you knew what was happening when you said those words just now, and yet you said them anyway.”

“The truth of the matter is that you want to be with me, you always have, whether you want to admit it or not. Yet now, you don’t want to be the one responsible for turning your back on your world, on your family. If the decision were to be taken out of your hands, then you wouldn’t have to feel any guilt.” 

Sarah sucked in a sharp breath, his words hitting a sore spot inside her that she’d been trying to ignore. As much as she wanted to deny it, he was right. Deep down, she knew it to be the truth. Ever since she had walked away from Jareth when he had offered her that crystal (and himself, as she would come to understand) she had regretted not telling him to send Toby home and staying in her brother’s stead. 

If she were truly honest with herself, Sarah had to admit that even though she liked her job well enough, she didn’t love it. She also wasn’t as satisfied with her life in the loud, noisy, dirty, and _expensive_ city as she liked to make it seem to her friends and family. The hard truth of the matter was that Sarah had felt more at home in the Goblin King’s world, even with its dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, than she had ever felt in any place since. She realized quite suddenly that maybe her heart had never left the Underground…because, perhaps, she had given it to him. 

However, Sarah was also extremely aware of how stone cold crazy it all was, and there was no way in hell she would be making these life altering decisions in the middle of the night. She had a job! A family! A lease! Finally spotting her nightgown, she let out a sigh. It was crumpled just behind where Jareth stood. 

“I’m not having this discussion with you tonight. Come back tomorrow night when everyone is asleep, and we can talk about it then,” she grumbled, carefully stepping around the scattered marbles as she made her way to the discarded piece of silk.

Sarah tried to ignore the irrational, almost heartsick feeling in her chest at the idea of him disappearing without her, even if only for the night. What if he didn’t come back?

_You’ve lost your damn mind! What the hell is wrong with you? Your brain short-circuited after that amazing orgasm. That’s all. You need to sleep. You’ll think with a clear head tomorrow._

Her self-assurance felt empty, even in her own head.

“We both know that I won’t be leaving here without you,” Jareth’s tone was firm, resolved. And lord help her, his words filled her with a giddy rush of excitement in spite of herself.

“Well, tough tits. Cause I’m not going anywhere,” Sarah insisted, forcing cold indifference into her tone, despite what she was feeling.

The Goblin King was quiet as she bent to pick up her nightgown. In hindsight, she really should have taken that as a sign of trouble. Yet by the time she straightened and felt the telling rush of air at her back, it was too late. A heavy black cloth was dropped over her head—the bag, Sarah realized with a rush of panic. Before she could even compose herself to think long enough to say Jareth’s true name and command him to stop, she felt herself falling, with no helping hands to stop her descent.

* * *

Not wishing to tarry one second longer than absolutely necessary, Jareth used his magic to straighten the disaster that was Sarah’s old room. With a flex of his fingers, he sent the scattered marbles back to their game, which promptly floated back to its proper place upon the shelf. He also reformed the ridiculous porcelain statuette his queen had broken, then sent it floating back to the nightstand. 

With another flourish of his hand, Jareth sent the pile of silken pillows, along with Sarah’s clothes, suitcases, and toiletries, to his chambers in the Goblin Castle. Remembering the book she’d thrown at him, he sent that along as well. She might want it later when they returned to the castle from his private retreat in a few day's time. In the meantime, if his beloved wanted for anything, he’d conjure it himself—except for clothing. She wouldn’t need any of that during their stay in his little home away from home.

The thought had Jareth growing impossibly hard, his cock straining against the leather breeches of his outfit. Gods…the taste of her still lingered on his tongue, sweeter than any peach. She was now **his**. As that realization truly sunk in, he felt practically lightheaded with anticipation. Oh, but this would be a happy Yuletide indeed.

Yes, in the end, he’d broken his promise to himself—to let Sarah say the words entirely on her own. However, he’d come to the realization that if he didn’t intervene and manipulate the situation to suit his means, they’d be left forever dancing around one another, each too stubborn to make a move. Frankly, Jareth hadn’t been able to imagine even one more year carrying on as they had. 

Now, the game of cat and mouse was over at long last. Jareth was free to enjoy the spoils of his victory. He was free to learn his Sarah in every way possible, to test her, push her to her limits, and teach her all the many ways in which they could pleasure one other before they officially began their new life together. 

With the need to be finished Aboveground so he could move on to indulging in his queen, Jareth gave an impatient wave of his arm. Sarah’s childhood bed remade itself, without so much as an errant wrinkle on the old quilt—the two lumpy-looking pillows stacked neatly upon themselves, just as they’d been before. 

It was then he noticed Sarah's discarded lace panties crumpled on the floor next to the bed. With a come-hither motion of his index finger, the undergarment flew to Jareth's waiting hand. He grinned wide as he tucked the trophy of his triumph into the inner pocket of his cloak—a little something to remember the night when he had finally gotten everything he had ever wanted. With a puff of breath, as if he were blowing out the flame of a candle, the lamp on the bedside table winked out. 

Unhindered by the black of night, the Goblin King then transported himself, in turn, to the bedchambers of each member of Sarah’s slumbering family. Crouching before their beds, he conjured a crystal, which turned into a fine silvery powder with a flourish of Jareth’s nimble fingers. With a wave of his palm, the dust drifted down to coat the faces of each of his queen’s loved ones, glimmering upon their cheeks and lashes like starshine. Within the blink of an eye, the powder seeped into their skin, carrying with it a false memory he had ingeniously embedded.

In the morning, they would all awaken, refreshed, and invigorated, just as he had promised Sarah they would. Yet now, thanks to his additional enchantment, they’d also awaken with the memory of Sarah having received an urgent call from a friend just after dinner. Her family would all recall Sarah informing them that this friend desperately needed her help. They would all remember that she had hurriedly packed up and rushed back to the city, with promises to visit after New Year’s, in perfect, realistic detail. 

They’d recall having been concerned, of course, but only mildly, each of them having unwavering faith in Sarah to handle the situation, whatever it was, even the ever-skeptical Karen. It would all be just fine—they’d all awaken sure of it. Of course, after his queen had accepted and adjusted to her new life, Jareth vowed to bring her by for a visit. 

He’d glamour himself to look like a mundane man of business—weaving a tale of how he’d met Sarah when she’d gone to help her friend. He’d tell them of how they’d fallen instantly, madly in love, and eloped shortly after. Her parents would be concerned at first, maybe even a little hurt, but they’d soon accept him. Jareth was sure of it. 

The ability to charm mortals with ease was, after all, an inherited trait of the Fae. He’d tell her family that his occupation required frequent travel and that his new bride insisted on being his traveling companion—that way, they would never question Sarah’s frequent absences. 

Of course, after prolonged exposure to the Underground, Sarah would become Fae herself, the magic of his world would seep into her susceptible human pores. She would indeed long outlive her family. Yet Jareth vowed that as long as these fragile mortals still existed in the plane of the living, he would make sure his queen still had contact with them. Glamours and tricks of the eye would hide the fact that she wouldn’t age. Her family meant everything to her, which meant they now meant something to him. 

After one last cursory glance about to make sure the home of his beloved’s family was safe and secure, Jareth at last gave into his burning need to be with his new queen and transported himself to his mountain retreat. He could scarcely wait to begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, just something to keep in mind, while Jareth manipulated Sarah into wishing herself away, she now has his true name. So, nothing occurring from this point on happens without her having the power to make him stop. Just FYI.


	6. The Cabin and the Chain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, I know…long time, no update. Yet, rest assured that Lady and I have been working on **a lot** of material these past months—several chapters of this fic, as well as a new co-authored WIP that will be posted once this fic is complete. No, I haven’t forgotten about Not an Ordinary Girl. I’ll be getting out the new chapter soon enough. 
> 
> Just FYI, this chapter is more of a setup chapter for upcoming sexy shenanigans. So, no smut in this one, but the following two will have naughtiness galore. We’re almost done with the rough draft of chapter 7, so you won’t be left hanging for long.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -Storygirl82

* * *

Sarah wasn't sure just how far or long she fell—a scream of terror frozen in her throat. Her paradox of a stomach-churning descent seemed to have only just begun yet felt as if it had been going on forever. She had started to fear she had lost all sense of time entirely when a dim, amber colored light suddenly winked into existence in the jet-black gloom below. 

The light grew brighter as Sarah's descent stretched on, and she registered that she could now make out her own legs uselessly flailing below her as she raced towards the unknown illumination. She reasoned that she must be coming to the end of whatever hole Jareth had sent her down.

Sarah braced herself for impact, trying to pull her knees close to her chest to lessen the inevitable damage, desperately trying to remind herself of her old mantra, that things weren't always what they seemed—she had learned that much. Jareth had told her that he loved her. He had gone to the trouble of tricking her (the rat bastard) into wishing herself away to the Underground. He wouldn't have done all that just to send her hurtling towards her death. 

_"I did tell you I wouldn't let you fall…"_

The Goblin King's earlier words whispered a faint assurance in Sarah's mind. As if on cue with her desperate thoughts, her speeding fall abruptly slowed to a gentle, gravity-defying float. She had a brief and peculiar feeling of weightlessness as if she were floating in salt water—and then she landed, with a soft plop, on something plush and incredibly comfortable. 

Once she came to a stop, Sarah realized she’d had her eyes shut in terror since shortly after the light had come into view. Realizing that she was, in fact, safe and sound (and not a splatter at the bottom of an unknown oubliette), she gingerly cracked her eyes open to take in her surroundings. 

Her heart was still racing, adrenaline causing her vision to swim, as she looked dazedly around to discover that she was in what appeared to be a rustically chic bedroom. Sarah's gaze flew upward, expecting to see the gaping black hole through which she must have fallen, but found only high, wood beams and stone, arching in a gabled ceiling above her head.

_Things aren’t always as they seem..._

As Sarah got her breathing under control, the sharp edges of her fear-induced shock began to dull and fade—leaving apprehensive curiosity in its wake. She couldn't help but notice that the bed upon which she had landed was nearly four times the size of the one in her old bedroom. It was also possibly the most comfortable, elegant thing she'd ever been on. It was firm but had enough give to it that it didn't feel like a slab of concrete. As she slowly sat up, she observed that the mattress seemed to mold to her body, like one of those fancy Swedish Tempur beds everyone raved about.

 _Of course, His Majesty would only rest his royal ass on the very best,_ Sarah thought, rolling her eyes.

The bed was covered in half a dozen throw pillows in varying shades of creams, golds, and rich chocolate browns. Two large fur pelts were spread over the mattress, overlapping just so. A pale green comforter with swirling ivory embroidery peaked out from beneath the edges of the lush expanse of pelts. 

She found herself wondering if the furs were man-made or taken from some strange, wild creatures of the Underground. The natural feeling of their softness brushing against her bare skin was something no synthetic fur could imitate. When she leaned down and gave an experimental sniff, her nostrils filled with the light, tell-tale musk of tanned animal hide.

_They're real then…_

Sarah couldn't help but think how Karen would undoubtedly swoon over the unusual colors of the pelts—fur coats were one of her stepmom's very favorite things. One of the pelts was a bright golden orange that seemed to shimmer as Sarah ran her fingers over it, while the other pelt was a sooty black with an unusual dark violet undertone. Sarah was sure she had never seen the like of either pelt in nature (Aboveground, at least). She wasn't in her world anymore though. 

She was in the Underground. Jareth must have sent her to the castle—to his bedroom, she reasoned.

Come to think of it…where was he? She had a few very specific bones to pick with him—a deep-set frown settling on her features as she whipped her head around and jumped from the bed. Her feet landed on what she had expected to be a freezing stone floor. Much to her surprise, pleasantly warm, ambient heat came from somewhere below the soles of Sarah's bare feet. 

_Heated floors? How swanky…_

She did a full turn of the room, confirming her suspicion that she was alone. Her stomach immediately knotted with cold, greasy tangles of unease. Where had Jareth gone? Why hadn't he followed her? What was his game? As miffed as she was at him, the thought of being left alone for an indefinite amount of time, in unfamiliar surroundings, made a prickle of anxiety rise in her chest. 

Looking for a distraction so as to stave off the threatening press of panic, Sarah fixed her attention to the fireplace at the center of the far wall, directly across from the bed. The hearth was unlit, despite the warmth of the room. Fresh, dry logs were stacked in a perfect _log cabin_ formation on the wrought iron grate, as if ready and waiting for an obliging match. However, that wasn't what captured her interest. 

The fireplace itself was definitely what one would call a _statement piece._ It was a grand, white marble rendition of a bearded goblin face with a broad, gaping mouth to serve as the hearth. The teeth, eyes, and flaring nostrils of the massive stone face were all expressed in intricately carved detail as if they were rendered by an extraordinarily skilled and patient hand. Sarah found herself padding over to it—nearly halfway across the room before she was even fully aware that she had moved. Gingerly, she reached her fingers out to grace the mantle. 

She leaned in close, noticing how even the stone goblin's beard hairs were carved with remarkable precision and care. Sarah couldn't quite decide if she found the piece creepy or _amazing_ , with its sightless, gaping eyes and soot-stained stone teeth. She decided that it fell somewhere in the middle.

Moving away from the fireplace to continue her exploration, Sarah noticed a short hallway off the bedroom, which she discovered led to an adjoining bathroom. She wasted no time ducking her head through the open mahogany door, anxious to familiarize herself with her new surroundings. Large oil lamp sconces illuminated the spacious room, filling it with a cozy amber glow that was both homey and romantic. 

The bathroom interior was all grey, rough-cut stone, juxtaposed against pristine white marble fixtures—a perfect blend of rustic charm and fashionable aesthetics. Sarah was mildly surprised to find evidence of modern plumbing, what with everything else having such an old-world feel to it. However, she was in no position to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Realizing her bladder was uncomfortably full, she took advantage of the ridiculously fancy marble toilet on the far side of the room. As she relieved herself, Sarah let her eyes wander. She noticed that the same stone that made up the floors and counters carried over to the inlaid tub on the opposite side of the room. It was more like a small pool than a bathtub, but she conceded that Jareth never did anything in half measures. Go big or go home. 

Sarah couldn't help but cast the tub a longing glance. It had already been filled to the edge with warm, steamy water that permeated the room with a pleasantly humid mist. She could easily picture herself slipping into the inviting water, letting the delicious heat ease away her frustration, anger, and worry. If she didn’t, it would just go to waste, wouldn’t it? There were half a dozen jewel-toned bottles and jars that lined the far ledge of the bathing pool. She briefly wondered what kind of shampoo a Fae king used, as she finished up and flushed the toilet. 

_Oh shit, the Goblin King!_

After rushing through the task of washing her hands, Sarah all but ran back out to the bedroom. He had to be there by now, right? He wouldn't just leave her by herself all night…would he? Much to her disappointment, the room was still empty…and she was still very much alone. It was then that she noticed the three large diamond-paned windows opposite the bed, illuminated by the pale blue of approaching dawn. Cautiously, she made her way over to them with a bewildered frown.

It couldn't be near sunrise already, could it? She and Jareth had only messed around for no more than a half-hour at the most before he'd sent her hurdling down whatever portal had been in that freaky sack. Time moved differently in the Underground, Sarah reminded herself. When she'd run the Labyrinth for Toby, it had been daytime when she'd arrived with Jareth, having just left her world at night. An entire day had passed during her time traversing the bizarre twists, turns, and pitfalls of the danger-filled maze, but she had later discovered that only a few hours had lapsed in her world when she and Toby had returned home.

Nothing in Jareth's world made sense…especially him. With a heavy sigh, Sarah closed her eyes as she was suddenly overcome with images of the Goblin King and what had happened in her bedroom. The way he had caged her body in with his own in her small twin bed, the thrill of anticipation that had shot straight through her abdomen when he'd pulled her to the edge of the mattress. 

_”Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall.”_

The same thrill tingled through her body then, and she involuntarily clenched her thighs at the recent memory of all that she'd let Jareth do to her—of all that she'd wanted to do to him...

 _Seriously, Williams? He kidnapped you, sent you falling down some crazy portal, abandoned you here, and all you can think about is getting laid?! Jesus, get a grip!_ She admonished herself with a shake of her head, ignoring the warmth growing between her legs.

Sarah scrunched her eyes shut all the tighter, willing away the nagging voice whispering at the back of her mind that she **needed** those long, talented fingers and skilled mouth more than she needed to be in control. Dragging in a steadying breath, she eased her eyes open and pushed aside the filmy white curtains obstructing her view of the window directly before her. 

_No one wants to get busy with their abductor, Sarah...except you, apparently._

What she really needed, Sarah thought, was to study her surroundings and get an idea of how to proceed. As she squinted out into the darkened, unknown landscape that lay beyond the diamond pattern of the window, she realized she most likely wasn’t in the castle after all. 

Just outside, illuminated by the weak light of the approaching dawn, Sarah thought she could make out the outline of what she guessed to be mountains. She didn't remember seeing any mountain ranges surrounding the Goblin Castle. No…there hadn't been mountains, but she thought she recalled that the castle had sat upon a platform of craggy cliffs, elevated above the city. Outside the Labyrinth, she remembered reddish-orange sand as far as the eye could see, like a desert. Where the hell was she?! Maybe she wasn't remembering it right. It had been ten years, after all.

Down below, so very far away, were the golden glow of lights from what she guessed to be a village—or perhaps the Goblin City. So, she was definitely elevated, she reasoned—up in the mountains above what Sarah very much hoped was the city she'd ransacked as a teen, even if only to be in close proximity of something familiar. 

As she continued to study the cluster of glowing embers that she deemed to be civilization, her gaze locked on a blessedly familiar silhouette. Just above the lights was the outline of the Goblin Castle, backlit by the faint pre-dawn light. Sarah swore that she'd know that wide central tower, with the jagged stone spikes jutting off it, anywhere. 

She had so frequently looked up at Jareth's home during her run—the castle serving as her true North during her journey. The unusual shape and characteristics were now forever burned in her mind's eye. It had to be Jareth's castle, but what about the unfamiliar mountain range she was apparently now tucked up in? 

Perhaps the sandy wasteland had only been a trick of the eye, a Faery glamour? It had seemed rather unusual that Jareth's kingdom would be a lone island in a vast ocean of sand. Perhaps the wasteland had been what the Goblin King had **wanted** her to see. What better way to keep her on the task of running the Labyrinth than to ensure that there was nothing else to snag her attention—nowhere to run to for help? It would make sense. After all, Sarah reminded herself yet again, things weren't always what they seemed.

She felt her breath hitch as she pressed her palm to the cold glass. If what she was seeing was, in fact, the Goblin City, would Hoggle be there? Ludo? Sir Didymus? It had been so long since she'd seen them. She’d tried as hard as she could to keep in touch, but once college started and she'd left home, it had become more and more difficult. God, how she missed them! It made her chest ache, and her eyes sting to think of all the adventures they’d had—in what now felt like another lifetime.

Sarah shivered, the cold bite of winter seeping through the window, causing her to abruptly break from her regret-filled reverie to address the fact that she was still stark naked. She had dropped the nightgown she'd been clutching when Jareth had thrown the bag over her, like a barbarian taking home a prize. Now, standing so close to the chilled glass, she was acutely aware of her nudity. Her bare skin tingled, her nipples tightening despite the warmth coming from the floor. She really needed to find something to wear.

Moving away from the window, Sarah crossed the room to a burled walnut armoire that stood against the wall. She pulled the armoire's doors wide, expecting to find it fully stocked with the Goblin King's signature poet's shirts, skin-tight pants, maybe even a cloak or two. Instead, only empty space greeted her. There wasn't so much as a single scrap of fabric within the armoire's interior. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

A return trip to the bathroom (and some snooping through its cabinets) revealed that there were no robes or spare linens to be found—only towels. Upon rummaging through the small stacked pile of pristine white terrycloth, Sarah discovered that all the towels were large enough to dry off with, but just shy of long enough to comfortably tuck around herself, despite her slender build. It was almost as if Jareth had purposely removed anything that she could use to cover herself, the pervert. 

"This is insane!" Sarah groaned aloud, gripping her hair in rapidly mounting frustration. He couldn't just take her like this and expect her to be wooed. It wasn't normal! It wasn't what she wanted! Was it? 

_No!! He doesn’t get away with this shit!_ She assured herself, perhaps a bit **too** vehemently.

Her gaze settled back on the bed, and Sarah realized that one of the odd pelts, or perhaps a bedsheet, would make a more than adequate cover-up. She'd been so caught up in hunting something to wear that she'd forgotten she had an available resource in the bedding.

_One sheet toga, comin' up!_

She moved forward, preparing to strip the lovely bed bare when she stopped dead in her tracks, eyes landing on the one door she’d yet to try. It suddenly occurred to Sarah that in her confusion, frustration, and foolish fixation on **all** the wrong things, she had failed to try the most straightforward solution. 

_Duh, Williams! Where's your head at?!_ Sarah silently scolded herself as she crossed the room to the ornately carved mahogany door—the one that doubtlessly led to the rest of the cabin, house, chalet, or whatever the hell it was she was in. 

There had to be more to the place than just a bedroom and adjoining bathroom. If someone were staying this far up, away from civilization, they'd need a place to store food and supplies, which meant there **had** to be at least a kitchen and probably some semblance of a living room. There might even be other bedrooms, perhaps some with wardrobes that contained clothing—anything she could make use of. Better yet, maybe there was a way out.

_But even if you manage to find clothing and some kind of footwear, how the hell are you going to get down a mountainside, in the freezing cold, with zero experience with that sort of thing? You're no mountain climber. You're going to get yourself killed!_

Hell, she wasn't even sure she wanted to leave the cabin. She told herself her hesitance was only because her surroundings were warm and comfortable...and it had absolutely **nothing** to do with Jareth. 

Well, first and foremost, she supposed she should—no, correction, she **wanted** to go home. However, if she was truly stuck where she was, then staying there sure as hell beat the suicide mission attempting to leave would be, especially when it wasn't fully light out. 

She'd have to wait for the sun to come up before venturing outside. If there was any sort of relatively safe path, she could try to make her way down to the Goblin City. From there she'd see if any of her friends were around, and if they could help her find a way back home. Her friends had used her vanity mirror as a portal into her world, all those years ago. Surely, they could use that same magic to get her back Aboveground.

Trying to quell her disappointment that Jareth seemed to have abandoned her there, Sarah figured she'd search the rest of the place, gather whatever supplies she could, then see if heading down to the city on foot was at all a possibility. However, she couldn't do any of that being naked as a jaybird, especially not in winter. Closing her eyes for a second, Sarah silently prayed (to whatever deity that might be listening) that she would luck out and find clothing somewhere in her unfamiliar surroundings. She just needed to look around.

The only problem with her plan was that the door wouldn’t budge. Hissing in outrage, Sarah made numerous attempts to turn the gleaming brass knob, her face flushed with exertion and righteous indignation—twisting, pulling, rattling, and growing more desperate with each failed attempt. Fresh out of ideas, she resorted to uselessly beating at the door first with the flat of her palm, then the side of her fist, until her hand was an angry shade of scarlet and throbbed like a sonofabitch. 

"If you're out there, let me out! Right the hell now, Jareth!" she shouted.

There was no haughty, barbing reply delivered from the other side of the door—only troubling silence. Sarah put her ear to the carved mahogany, straining to make out sounds of life beyond the wooden barrier. Nothing. Not a single indicator of anyone on the other side. Shaking her head, she let out a bitter, self-effacing laugh. 

_Did you really think it was going to be that easy? Of course, he locked you in! This is the Goblin King—he wouldn’t exactly make it a piece of cake for you, would he?_

Remembering the windows, Sarah hurried back across the room and tried the latch of each one. Her throat tightened again at the discovery that they were all stuck fast—their latches stubbornly refusing to turn, as if welded shut. With a groan of frustration, acceptance of her situation settled over her like a smothering blanket, her stomach sinking. She was stuck there until His Nibs decided to grace her with his royal presence…and who knew how long that would be.

With a prolonged sigh, Sarah made her way over to the bed, ready to face plant on its softness and just lie there a while, feeling sorry for herself. As she came to stand at its foot, poised to fall forward, she became aware of a strange tinkling noise coming from somewhere above her head. 

_Clink-clink-clink. Tinkle-tinkle-tap_

Sarah froze, head whipping back and forth. What the fuck was that?! The back of her neck prickled with a cold wash of wariness—her heart immediately picking up speed.  
Was she not as alone as she thought? Something, or someone, had to be making that noise, right? Her eyes darted up to the rafters, scanning the gabled ceiling for the source of the strange sound, but she couldn't seem to pinpoint its exact location. It was quiet at first, and almost delicate, growing just a tiny bit louder each time it sounded—sending small shivers of apprehension skittering down Sarah's spine. 

_Tap-tap-tap. Tinkle-tinkle-tap._

The sound reminded her a bit of the gentle tinkering the late Merlin's tags would make whenever he ran—metal clinking against metal. Sarah strained to listen, every muscle in her body taut and on alert, poised to run to the bathroom and lock herself in at the first sign of danger. It sounded as if it were coming from somewhere over the bed. She circled the piece of furniture in question, and the strange jangling intensified, as did the feeling of unease that settled low in the pit of her belly.

_Tap-tap-tap. Tinkle-tinkle-tap-tap-tap._

The noise was coming from over her head, she was sure of it. Part of her didn't want to know what the source of the sound was…but if she were trapped in here, with something dangerous, she needed to know what it was. With an anxious lick of her lips, Sarah's gaze swept over the ceiling, just above the bed. Then just like that, the noise abruptly stopped, as if it’s source knew she was looking for it.

_What the hell is going on here?!_

What if there was some creepy, voyeuristic goblin up in the rafters, making that noise just to mess with her? The idea of a warty little peeping tom, watching her from the shadowed ceiling, made her insides go cold. Oh god…if one of Jareth's little minions was up there, what the hell was she going to do? Beat it with throw pillows? Threaten it with physical violence? While she hadn’t loved all the denizens of the kingdom, she didn’t necessarily _want_ to hurt one.

With a few tilts of her head, she decided there seemed to be nothing in the rafters after all. The only thing on the ceiling was a stunning wheel-shaped chandelier of jet-black wrought iron. It was secured by four pieces of thick rope, each about a foot long, fastened to separate points of the wheel. They met at a point, just below a central, joining knot. Above and beyond the knot ran a long expanse of the same rough-hewn rope, which secured the chandelier to the overhead beams. 

The chandelier hung about six feet over the bed and held eight ivory wax candles around its spokes in jutting brass niches—casting a warm honey glow into even the far corners of the room. Floral, ornate brass emblems adorned the outer circumference of the chandelier, one emblem nestled between each gleaming candle niche. Like everything else in the strange bedroom in which Sarah found herself captive, the chandelier was absolutely gorgeous and unique. Yet she found her admiration of the piece cut short, as the strange tinkling noise that had pestered her just a moment ago, resumed once more. 

_Tap-clink-tap-tap! Tinkle-tinkle-tap!_

It was louder than ever—as if encouraging Sarah to keep her eyes on the chandelier. Staring up at it, she was certain the sound was originating from the fixture itself…but it wasn't moving. It was as still as stone, the rope completely stationary. It was as if there was something inside it, hiding within the iron band of the wheel. 

_Oh God…what if it's a mouse…or even worse, a rat?_  
Sarah thought with a shudder—the sudden phantom feeling of tiny rodent claws skittering up her arms. 

_Tap-tap-tap-tap! Tap-tap-tinkle-tinkle-tap!_

Realizing it sounded nothing like scurrying vermin, curiosity began to poke at her, urging further exploration. With another deep breath, Sarah gathered her nerves and gingerly crawled onto the mattress on her hands and knees so that she could peer up at the chandelier from directly below.

_Huh…weird…_

Strangely enough, there wasn't any bottom on the iron wheel, not even a connecting metal bar inside. It was just a big empty metal circle, held up by rope. So, nothing could possibly be hiding inside it, Sarah reasoned, her brow furrowing in confusion. What the hell had she heard?

It was then that a shining glint of… _something_ flashed along the shadowed inside of the chandelier, winking like a glimmer of starlight.

_What the hell…_

_Tap-tap-tap-tinkle! Tap-tinkle-tinkle-tap!_

Something was definitely up there, Sarah realized, a fresh wave of unease twisting in her belly—momentarily choking the flow of oxygen from her lungs.

_But what could possibly…_

Suddenly a long, slender bit of shiny _something_ dropped from inside the chandelier, dangling just a few feet from Sarah's wide-eyed stare. She jerked her head back, catching herself from falling backward in her surprise. Hanging in front of her face was what appeared to be a shimmering length of fine silver chain, glowing against the warm light of the bedroom. 

The chain was slim and delicate looking, reminding Sarah of a necklace, but just a bit thicker than a typical pendant chain. Just how long it was, and precisely how it was secured to the chandelier, she couldn’t determine from where she crouched. How and why it had suddenly dropped from the chandelier had her baffled. 

Sarah wasn’t able to contemplate the mystery of it for long, as the chain began to move in front of her eyes. The strange thing moved like it was alive—swaying and undulating as if moving to a melody she couldn't hear.

"What the hell is happening here..." She breathed, as the chain suddenly curled to move upward—defying all logic, loosely wrapping itself around one of the jutting candle niches.

Sarah blinked up at the mysterious chain, her mouth slightly agape, as she watched it writhe and coil itself tighter around the candle niche—as if settling in. The chain's lithe, fluid movements reminded her of the pet corn snake Toby had once had, for all of a week, until it had gotten out of its tank one day. Karen had decided it was too creepy to keep around and made Toby give it away to a friend from school. 

Even though the chain was far from the craziest thing she'd seen in Jareth's world, she still found herself burning to know precisely what it was and why it was there. As she silently reminded herself of the old adage _"curiosity killed the cat,"_ she found her limbs slowly unfolding from her crouch to stand shakily on the mattress. Sarah balanced on her bare feet atop the soft furs before she could talk herself out of it. She couldn't seem to help herself, she **needed** a better look.

"What are you?" Sarah murmured, eyes narrowing as she strained her neck as far as she could manage and precariously lifted herself on the balls of her feet—the chandelier just a tad too high for her five-foot, seven-inch frame. 

As if the thing were a sentient being, it responded to her inquiry by unwinding itself just enough that one glittering end of it dropped down directly in front of Sarah's wide eyes. It then curled the end of itself upward as if it were somehow _looking_ into her eyes. 

She wasn't sure why, but a fierce, inexplicable need to touch the obviously magical object flared within her. Knowing full well what she was doing probably wasn't advisable, she couldn't seem to stop herself from reaching out a shaky hand to the upturned chain. It wasted no time slithering onto her palm, feeling pleasantly cool and smooth to the touch. As it slid against her skin like an affectionate caress, Sarah felt the frayed edges of her nerves begin to soothe. 

She brought her hand up closer to her face—to better examine the chain. It really did shine like no metal she'd ever seen before, and the more she stared at it, the more she became convinced that the faint glow it gave off wasn't just a well-polished sheen. It was actually glowing! In fact, the longer Sarah stared at it, the brighter its soft silver luminescence seemed to grow. 

"What in the world…" she murmured, as she watched the chain slowly begin to curl around her wrist.

She knew she should be suspect of anything and everything in the Goblin King's world, but there was just something about the glimmering length of glowing metal that made her want to touch it—made her almost crave the cool brush of it against her skin. 

Hearing another jingling tinkle from overhead, Sarah glanced back up to see the other half of the chain slithering out from its hiding place within the chandelier, where it began to creep towards the supporting beam. It almost seemed to be growing in length as it continued to slither upward.

Sarah glanced back down at the chain in her hand, alarmed to see that it had somehow completely wound itself around her right wrist. How had she not felt that?

"Okay, that's enough. I don't even know what you are... Probably not a good idea to let you keep touching me…" she murmured, alarm bells starting to sound within her head.

As Sarah raised her left hand to try and pry the chain from her right wrist, it suddenly loosened its grip upon her—the end of the chain lashing out to curl around her left wrist, so quick she wasn't even sure she had seen it move. Before she could even so much as blink, the chain had wound itself around both of her wrists, synching them close together.

"What the fuck?" Sarah cried, her heart kicking hard within her chest.

Her eyes immediately darted back up to the beam overhead, just in time to see the other half of the chain loop itself tightly around the supporting beam, not far from where the chandelier hung—effectively tethering her in place. 

"What the hell is this?!" she gasped, full-fledged panic alighting within her, making her blood pound a loud rhythm in her ears. 

She struggled to pry her hands free, her face heating with the effort. She tried yanking her wrists apart this way and that, twisting the chain back and forth in the hope that the chain would somehow break if she tugged just right. While the chain didn't dig into her skin or pinch around her wrists as she pulled, it refused to release her. 

Gritting her teeth in determination, Sarah lifted her bound wrists over her head—remembering an article her dad had insisted on sharing with her a few years back. It had detailed ways to escape abductors, and he had insisted on reading it aloud to her during a visit, saying that since she lived in the city, she _"needed to know this stuff."_ Sadly, she'd only half listened, thinking her dad was being paranoid and overly cautious. She hadn't thought she’d ever have to escape regular bonds, let alone magical ones. 

Thinking back on the article, she tried to recall exactly what her father had read aloud to her that day. While it wasn’t as simple as duct tape, it was worth a shot. With a deep breath, Sarah braced herself and flung her arms downward against her knee, pulling against the glowing chain with all her strength. Sadly, she only succeeded in stumbling over her own feet. She fell forward onto her knees, where she sat back on her haunches and continued to yank against her bonds, a stream of curse words flowing under her breath.

Sarah’s head whipped towards the door when the familiar sound of heeled boots against stone sounded from the other side of the locked barrier. She froze in place, a nervous lump suddenly forming in her throat. 

_Click-clack-click._

_He’s here, finally!_

Her stomach clenched with a contradictory combination of anxiety and excitement. She was relieved that she wasn't alone, but Sarah also felt the sharp, burning urge to smack the Goblin King right in his smug mouth the very second she got her hands free. Oh, but he was **so** going to get a piece of her mind! 

Dropping forward onto her belly, Sarah army-crawled on her knees and elbows to the foot of the bed, trying to test the limits of the enchanted chain. She was surprised to find that she didn't have to strain much—the chain moved with her, magically lengthening as she crawled. However, she quickly learned the tether's limit seemed to be the edge of the bed. As soon as she was able to fumble her way to a sitting position at the foot of the bed, the chain became taut—refusing to lend its magic to help her move any further.

A sudden gust of warm air barreled through the room then, the logs within the fireplace crackling to life. Sarah startled as a roar of flames filled the stone goblin's mouth, then settled into a gentle, popping burn. The door swung open with ease, and the Goblin King entered, in what Sarah supposed he imagined to be a casual fashion. As if anything _His Majesty_ ever did could be considered casual.

"You always find a way to make an entrance, don't you?" she asked with a glare, trying not to allow her gaze to linger on him too long—silently demanding her body remain calm and somehow not let her skin flush in response to his sudden change of attire…or rather his _lack_ of attire. 

At some point, Jareth had shucked the Krampus armor and whatever shirt he’d previously worn beneath it. While she had felt his body against hers earlier that night on the porch, seeing it was still a surprise, and not at all an unpleasant one. The hard planes of his bare chest glowed in the firelight, his leanly muscled torso bare, save for the black, fur-trimmed cloak hanging loose and open around his shoulders. His peculiar silver and bronze amulet lay perfectly between his pectorals, winking at her in the glow of the firelight. Sarah's fingers itched to trace and play over the metal, to feel just how much his skin had warmed it - to let her hands roam over the hard planes of his chest - which was definitely **not** a good idea.

"Yes, well, I find that I have quite the talent for such things...and it would be a pity to waste one of my many Gods-given talents," Jareth replied with a grin. 

He cast her a sly wink—as if reminding her of a certain _talent_ he'd used on her not but twenty minutes before. Sarah almost resented the way her thighs clenched in immediate response. The smug bastard wielded his sexuality like a goddamn weapon, and she found herself sadly outmatched. Despite her resolve not to admire him openly, Sarah found her gaze straying lower down the Goblin King's body—becoming a bit breathless as she fully took him in.

Her eyes followed the naturally sharp cut of Jareth's hips down to his low-slung leather pants, so tight they could have been painted on. They were probably the same ones he'd been wearing in her room, but without the rest of his armor, she could actually see them, as well as appreciate their… _quality tailoring._ Her gaze lingered on his oversized belt buckle, previously hidden by the overlap of his breastplate. 

The buckle was the same unique shape as his amulet, only reversed, and about the size of an apple. The twin points of the sigil faced upward and glinted wickedly in the firelight, looking sharp enough to pierce through flesh. The overall effect of the buckle was reminiscent of a fast-food billboard on a stretch of highway, practically pulling her eyes to it. It was just a little **too** effective, Sarah thought. 

Her hungry gaze strayed lower still, to the crisscrossing leather laces at the front of Jareth’s pants, and the...generous, rigid outline that was clearly visible at the front of said pants—straining against the laces. With his wild, pale hair illuminated by the firelight, he looked like a lust-conjured figment of fantasy that had somehow managed to walk right off the pages of a trashy romance novel. She then noticed his mismatched eyes were rimmed with kohl eyeliner—a touch to his costume that had somehow failed to snag her attention earlier. Sarah had to admit, Jareth pulled the look off rather effortlessly. He looked good...a little **too good**.

_Good enough to eat even..._

Sarah swallowed, her mouth going dry—the sudden urge to tug open the laces of Jareth's pants with her teeth winding itself around her insides. She supposed if she were to ever find herself under the threat of torture, she would have to admit that there had been a few times she had let her eyes stray below the Goblin King's waistline, during her run of the Labyrinth. She hadn't been able to stop herself from sneaking a peek (or several) at the large bulge so shamelessly displayed in his skintight breeches. Yes, the impressive, hard outline of him had, in truth, piqued her curiosity and had sent her teen hormones into a bit of a tizzy. Of course, said bulge had then fueled many a vague, naughty daydream not long after her Underground adventure. Then there were her recent (and **very** adult) dreams that had hounded her subconscious like a nocturnal curse, albeit an enjoyable one. Unfortunately, her dreams had been frustratingly hazy on some of the finer details. Upon waking, Sarah hadn't been able to recall just how _endowed_ Jareth had been, or other bits of intimate knowledge that would have required actual real-life experience with the subject in question.

However, even in her current predicament—abducted, naked, and chained against her will, Sarah couldn't help but wonder just how Jareth would look sans pants... or how he would _feel._ Would he stretch her uncomfortably? Even without having seen him entirely in the buff, she could tell that he was a great deal larger than either of her exes had been. Would her past experience at all help her to take him, or would he completely wreck her? Why did a part of her **really** want to find out, despite her current circumstances?

 _Christ on a cracker, Williams! That is so not where your head should be right now! Talk about putting the cart before the horse! Wait…no! There's no cart or horse in this situation! That isn’t happening. He kidnapped you—remember?!_ Sarah scolded herself, and with a shake of her head, she summoned all the anger, exasperation, and frustration she'd felt towards him since she’d first landed on the bed.

"What the hell is all of this, Jareth!? You threw me down some Alice in Wonderland trash chute, and now I'm chained to the damned ceiling beam!" She lifted her bound wrists and waved them for emphasis. 

"Ah, I see you've found your bonding chain all on your own. What a pleasant surprise." Jareth grinned all the wider, obviously pleased, which only served to further fray Sarah’s already tattered nerves.

"My what now?! Where the hell are we?! What're we doing here!? I swear to god if you don't send me home **right fucking now** I'm going to shove my foot so far up your--" 

"Now, now, there is no need for such vulgarity." Jareth raised one hand to silence her, inclining his tousled head—that annoying as hell self-satisfied grin still on his lips. "I'll answer all of your questions, pet. Just allow me a moment to respond to one before you hurl a dozen others at me. Yes?" 

Giving him only a silent, steely glare in response, Sarah watched as the Goblin King gave another wave of his hand. The door began to close behind him, and Sarah caught a glimpse of a similarly rustic-chic livingroom beyond its threshold, before it shut with a resolute _thud_. Jareth took his sweet time crossing the room to circle the bed—until he was standing directly in front of her.

"Now then, as to answer your first question," he began, reaching his bare hands up to unclasp the cloak at his neck, Sarah's eyes intently following his every motion. "A bonding chain is quite a useful object. It's typically used for bedroom play and is enchanted to respond only to the one it is intended to bind, which would be you, dearest. Consider it my Yule gift to you. Although, I had it made some months ago. Shortly after _darling Kevin_ became a thing of the past. A bonding chain is the perfect present really. What's that saying you mortals have? Ah yes, _the gift that keeps on giving._ "

Jareth's eyes roamed over her, his gaze so intent that Sarah could almost feel it like a caress against her skin. Even though his mouth had been between her legs just a short time ago, she felt herself blushing at the sudden intimate scrutiny, and tried to move her arms to cover her chest. The bonding chain, however, decided that it wasn't going to allow that. It suddenly retracted, raising her arms so that they were lifted above her head. Her upper body was completely on display—the chain refusing to give, despite her persistent tugs.

"You should be aware that the chain is infused with magic, and is therefore indestructible,” Jareth continued. “It is also enchanted to be in tune with my personal preferences...And I will **always** prefer your gorgeous breasts bared for me. Therefore, the chain will make certain they are.” Jareth chuckled, letting the cloak slip off his shoulders to land on the floor in a heap of crumpled wool and inky black fur.

“But by all means, do keep trying. I find myself to be rather enjoying the show." 

With a dismissive motion of his hand, the discarded cloak flew from the floor and sailed across the room to the walnut armoire, which opened to allow the cloak in—the doors shutting behind it with a gentle click. Sarah blinked several times, not quite sure when she'd fully get used to these sudden displays of Jareth's powers. It was like Mary Poppins or something. Except in this case _Mary Poppins_ was an incredibly hot Fae with biceps she would very much like to sink her teeth into—Sarah thought as she let her appreciative gaze run over the Goblin King's bare, toned arms.

"Now, as to where we are..." Jareth continued, "I like to think of this as my little hideaway—my home away from home if you will. I come here whenever I'm in dire need of a bit of peace and quiet. It's about three days' travel from the castle on foot. So, it's just far enough out that I know none of my subjects are going to bother coming to look for me unless a war suddenly breaks out, which is highly doubtful. I make it a point to keep my territory politically neutral. Friend of all, the enemy of none, and all that. "

"Besides, goblins are naturally lazy little gits. The day one of them decides to scale a mountain for the sheer fun of it, is the day I decide to join the Seelie court and become one of Titania's sleepy-eyed, mush-for-brains playthings," Jareth informed her with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "Not sodding likely--” 

"Okay, fine! That's great. But why are we here? Or more to the point, why did you kidnap me and bring me here?!" Sarah interrupted, impatiently glaring emerald daggers at him.

A soft, but commanding crack suddenly echoed throughout the room, and Sarah realized that Jareth had materialized the birch rod back into his clenched hand. He tapped it against the side of his leg, just loud enough to elicit a surprisingly delicious sound against the leather of his pants, the effects of which sent a startling spark straight between Sarah's legs.

 _What the hell, Williams?_

The Goblin King circled his way towards the front of the bed, turning his back on her to walk towards the headboard. He then turned sharply on his heel and returned to where Sarah sat at the foot of the bed—idly tapping the birch rod against his thigh all the while, as if silently contemplating his response. Sarah suspected he just enjoyed making her wait—watching her squirm with annoyed impatience.

Standing directly before her once again, Jareth moved in close. His leather-clad shins pressed against hers, his scent flooding her senses—making her clench her thighs all the more desperately. Sarah felt her mouth go as dry as sawdust once again, as she watched him slowly raise the hand that held the rod. He brought the slender implement up to his scrutinizing gaze, turning it this way and that as if momentarily considering its size, shape, and weight. 

Quick as a flash, Jareth changed his focus and moved the tip of the rod, so it sat just between her breasts. Her breath caught in her throat, her spine going ramrod straight.

"What are we doing here, you ask? Really, Sarah, I'm almost disappointed," he began, moving the birch rod in a slow trail down her sternum as he spoke. "You remember your beloved Uroma's story, yes? Krampus takes away the naughty to be punished." His sharp teeth glinted at her in the low light.

Jareth swirled the smooth tip of the rod down the taut valley of her stomach, causing her abdominals to clench in immediate response. Sarah watched, every coherent thought having fled from her head as he traced the tip of the rod over her abdomen and across the tops of her thighs. The light, airy caress of the polished wood made her skin tingle—made her nipples tighten to near painful peaks. Heat bloomed wherever the rod touched, and her pussy involuntarily clenched at the sudden, unnerving idea of it cracking against her flushed skin.

_What the hell is wrong with me?! This shouldn't be making me excited! I should use his true name and make him let me go…_

Her lips parted as if to speak, but she couldn’t form the words, a sudden memory of her sophomore year of college flashing in her head. Her roommate that year had been a sullen goth girl named Astrid. While they had barely spoken to each other the entire year, Astrid's reading materials had spoken volumes. 

All around their dorm room, Astrid had shamelessly left out copies of strange fetish magazines. The scandalous content featured intricately rope-bound women and leather clad men, accessorized with all sorts of implements just like the one the Goblin King was holding. Riding crops, whips, paddles, or, in some of the photos, just bare palms slapping against bright pink skin. 

The images had a surprising effect on Sarah. She had expected to feel disgusted as she curiously skimmed through a random magazine while Astrid was in class. Disgust had been the furthest thing from her mind as she'd taken in the tantalizing images of expertly braided ropes synched across smooth skin. Truthfully, Sarah had been more than a little alarmed to find that the pictures in Astrid's naughty magazines made her hornier than she'd been in her entire adult life. She'd blamed it on a temporary lapse in judgment and had surmised it to be just a case of Astrid's strangeness rubbing off on her due to close proximity; ropes, whips, and manacles were **definitely** not her thing! Right? That sort of stuff was for people with issues…like her roommate, not someone like her.

Despite what she'd told herself, Sarah found herself eagerly snatching up the magazines whenever Astrid was out of their room. More often than not, she'd find her hand sliding inside of her panties to work herself to a lip-biting orgasm. She'd come hard, staring in breathless awe at the photos of bound women arching in ecstasy against the disciplinary hand of their dominant lovers. After, Sarah had wondered what it would feel like to hand over that type of control of her body and pleasure to someone else. 

She'd spent many of those nights lost in feverish fantasy over the notion of being restrained and helpless, awaiting someone who would tell her exactly what to do, someone who she could give complete control to. Someone who would tell her exactly when, and **if** , she could come. A familiar, commanding presence that would take care of her in every way.

Sarah had never before dared to ask for what she secretly craved. Neither Seth nor Kevin had put out vibes that they'd be into that sort of thing. Hell, Kevin would probably have outright laughed at her if she had ever worked up the nerve to ask him to tie her up and spank her until her ass was a glowing red. So, she'd put her desires aside, buried them down deep, and had all but forgotten about them…until the sound of the birch rod cracking against leather resonated through the room.

There she sat, wrists bound, the recent memory of Jareth edging her orgasm—telling her exactly when she could come, fresh in her mind. Sarah couldn't deny the flare of excitement that jackknifed through her system, despite the ridiculous situation in which she found herself. As if Jareth could sense where her thoughts had strayed, he shifted the tip of the rod squarely between her thighs. A shuddering gasp broke from her lips as she felt the smooth kiss of the wooden tip leisurely travel over the top of her mound to lightly tap against the juncture of her closed thighs, a silent demand for her to spread them.

Apparently, her useless brain had misfired, because Sarah found herself complying without a second thought. Her thighs parted just the smallest measure, just enough to allow Jareth to trace the length of her slit with the slender tip of the birch rod. Her body shuddered at the foreign sensation of the wooden implement touching her so intimately, her back arching—jutting her breasts forward like a shameless offering. 

Sarah could have shut her legs then. She could have used Jareth’s true name and ordered him to go straight to Hell. Instead, she found her eyes locked with the Goblin King's own searing gaze. A whimper of confusion and need tumbled from her lips before she could even stop herself.

"Wha-what do you want from me, Jareth?"

"Ah, but I thought I had already made my intentions clear as crystal, my queen,” he answered, his voice having dropped close to a whisper. “I want everything from you that you would freely give me—your love, your loyalty, your submission. I did inform you previously that you were to be punished for your earlier transgressions, did I not?"

"B-but I thought, I thought b-before--" Sarah stammered when Jareth lifted the switch from between her legs, now slightly damp and glistening with her juices, to slowly trace the underside of each of her breasts, making her breath stall within her lungs.

Her bound wrists tugged futility against the restraint of the magic chain. Whether she was still trying to get free, or just desperately wanted to get her hands all over the Goblin King, Sarah wasn't entirely sure.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Jareth admonished softly, leaning in close, gazing down on her through heavy-lidded eyes. The birch rod drew lazily across her stomach, teasing over her ribs. Even after those heated moments on the porch, and later in her bedroom, Sarah didn’t think she had ever felt as enraptured of the Goblin King as she did in that moment.

"Come now, precious. Did you truly think that pleasuring you with my mouth was your punishment?" He gave a soft laugh, flexing his grip meaningfully on the switch. "Although, it was highly enjoyable and I plan on doing it as much as possible in the _very_ near future. For now, I believe you are in need of something… **more**."

With that he straightened, withdrawing the caress of the rod from her skin to give a demonstrative flick of the switch in front of her, the sharp swish whistling through the air. Gooseflesh prickled at the back of Sarah's neck and arms at the sound—immediately breathless over everything it suggested. She could only stare at Jareth, mouth slightly agape, as a surreal combination of apprehension and exhilaration rushed through her.

What the hell had she gotten herself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, and for anyone who might be wondering—yes, the "bonding chain" was inspired by the magic silver chain used by Ditchwater Sal (to hold Tristain Thorn's mother captive) in the movie Stardust.


	7. The Punishment and the Sweet Surrender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just another final warning, if you’re not at all into sub/dom themes and have an issue with bondage, spanking, switching, etc, this isn’t for you. We assure you this scene won’t get disturbing (just pleasantly naughty/kinky), but if you’re at all opposed to the idea of this sort of thing, this probably won’t rev your engine. Just a heads up.

* * *

_I saw magic in his eyes. Dirty, dark, beautiful magic._

_-Nicole Lyons_

* * *

She couldn’t possibly entertain the idea of _actually_ letting Jareth switch her ass—allowing him to demean her like a bratty child. What sort of respect would he possibly have for her if she let him? Would she even be able to respect herself after something like that? If she just let him do what he wanted with her, would she be declaring herself nothing but a plaything? Something to be used and discarded at the Goblin King’s whim? The idea of it began to pulse through her, dread pooling deeply in her chest.

Embarrassment swirled within her once again at the thought—shame making her face turn uncomfortably hot. Not only had she let her guard down and wished herself away to the Underground, but she had also somehow gotten herself chained to the Goblin King’s bed. She felt like one of those roasted pigs at a luau—trussed up and ready to be served on a silver platter...or rather, served with a silver chain.

 _Just stick an apple in my damn mouth and call me done,_ she thought bitterly.

More humiliating still, was that she was quivering, yes, _quivering_ under the touch of the rod as Jareth returned the implement of punishment to slide across her breasts, collarbone, and throat—baiting her. He wanted her to submit, to beg as she had earlier in her bedroom. As much as the idea of submitting to him galled Sarah, it also made her ache with a sharp sort of intensity that she couldn’t have even begun to articulate if she tried. 

The very idea of the Goblin King leaving red marks on her pale skin with that rod—marks of his claim, lurid stripes of his ownership; it made her breath catch in her throat. Her thighs trembled as she clamped them back together and willed them to remain shut this time.

“Do not attempt to deny that you want this. I can scent your desire, your **need** for me,” Jareth’s voice was a low sinful purr as he trailed the tip of the birch rod downward, back through the short, wiry curls of her mons in an almost mocking tease. “Oh, and what a sweet perfume it is too—like peach blossoms in the height of spring.”

Sarah’s eyes tracked The Goblin King’s tongue as it darted out to map a slow, deliberate drag along the curve of his bottom lip—emphasizing his dirty, alarming words.

What?! He couldn’t possibly smell **that** , could he? For some reason, that thought filled Sarah with equal parts outrage and excitement. Of course, her knee-jerk reflex was to obliterate said excitement with a blast of fury. 

“Fuck you, Jareth! This is insane! You had your laugh, but this sick joke has gone far enou--” 

Before she could so much as utter another syllable, Jareth vanished before her eyes, making Sarah fall silent instantly. For one horrible second, she thought he had left her again—chained, and unreasonably achy for something she had no business craving as badly as she did.

With her next heartbeat, it seemed, she felt the mattress dip, coupled with the scent of amber and leather. Her shoulders sagged with some modicum of relief, arms going slightly limp as they pulled against her bonds.

Without a word uttered between them, Sarah felt the warmth of Jareth’s chest lightly press against her back. His strangely soothing heat reminded her of the sun kissing her skin during the summer months when she liked to lay out on the sad little micro patio of her apartment. 

_May the sweet baby Jesus have mercy on my pathetic soul…_ Sarah thought, almost deliriously, as her eyes automatically slid closed.

Her heart stuttered with a tripping rhythm as she felt the Goblin King gather her hair in his hands, settling the dark mass to one side, over her right shoulder. 

Sarah couldn’t quite stifle her gasp as Jareth’s hot breath bathed the nape of her neck. She also failed miserably at withholding the shudder that seized her when she felt his mouth brush the barest hint of a kiss over the love bite he’d left on her throat earlier.

“Sarah mine...are you afraid of me?” Jareth’s voice murmured directly into the cavern of her ear. His hushed, honeyed tone sent a bolt of sensation straight to her core. 

A sigh left her lips as he peppered soft, barely-there kisses over the bruised blotch he had created during their confrontation on the porch, stopping just under her earlobe. “Have I not already made my affection for you clear?

“That’s not the point,” Sarah answered stubbornly, awkwardly angling her head and straining her neck to look at him.

She may have been afraid of the Goblin King at one time, but not now. Afraid wasn’t quite the right word.

“You must know that I would never truly hurt you. I would never inflict pain upon you that wasn’t directly tied to your pleasure. I would also never do anything that I did not think you could withstand. You hold such power within you, precious. Let me unleash it. Let me ignite that spark inside you that I know flickers just under the surface. If you will allow me, I can show you just how gloriously powerful you can truly be.” His tongue darted out to graze against her earlobe.

His words instantly lit a fire inside her. An urgent, needy throb pulsed between her legs at the idea of letting go, of surrendering control to him. Yet she couldn’t help but be reminded of Eve and her silver-tongued serpent. Sarah certainly knew who the _serpent_ was in this situation. She narrowed her eyes as doubt began to bleed into her consciousness.

“And just how does being bound and at your mercy make _me_ powerful? Isn’t being a captive the opposite of having power?” She tugged against the chain that held her wrists aloft. She observed that no matter how she pulled at the _bonding chain_ , it never pinched or bit into her skin. If one had to be subdued, Sarah supposed a magic chain was the way to go.

Jareth hummed low in his throat in response to her question, as if conceding her point, before placing another lighter than air kiss on her marked flesh. 

“While you would indeed be submitting to me, you must know that there’s strength in casting control aside—in allowing yourself to realize long-suppressed desires. There’s sheer force in becoming all that you ever wanted to be. Especially when it frightens you,” he whispered, mouth sliding against the shell of her ear. “You, my love, will be a spectacular force of nature once you have fully accepted every part of yourself. What could be more powerful than that?”

Was there anything Jareth couldn’t spin into sounding like a good idea? Sarah almost wanted to ask how he could possibly know about her _secret desires_ , but she already knew the answer to that one. He’d been spying a lot more than he had ever admitted to. The sudden thought of him spectating via crystal during those private moments made her clit throb and her body hum with need.

Could she really do it? Just let go? Easy as that? Surrender her body, her safety, potentially everything else—to her longtime nemesis?

“That birch rod doesn’t look like it won’t hurt me,” was all that Sarah managed to get out, her voice hushed and hesitant.

The Goblin King chuckled low in his throat—a challenger sensing his opponent’s weakening resolve and relishing in it. Sarah felt his free hand come up to tangle in the hair at the base of her neck. She let out a small gasp as he pulled her head back against his shoulder to give himself better access to her throat—trailing his tongue over her pulse point before speaking again. The slight sting of her scalp as his fist tightened its clutch on her tresses sent a series of tingles shooting down her spine. 

“What I have here is actually a rattan cane. A birch rod, or switch, is just a ghastly looking bundle of scraggly twigs. It’s a wholly inelegant and homely implement. I much prefer the sleekness of the cane. I am resolved in bringing a touch of refinement to the fearsome legend of Krampus, you see,” he told her matter-of-factly, his tone holding a hint of amusement.

Sarah then felt Jareth shift behind her, until he was holding the cane in question up to where she could see it once more—his other hand still tangled in her hair, limiting her range of motion. He was right. Now that she thought about it, she did recall all the illustrations she’d seen of Krampus as a teen (via a truly terrifying German storybook of Uroma’s that Karen had since banned from the house) featuring an odd bundle-like switch in the goat demon's clawed hand. 

If she had recalled that little inconsistency sooner, she might have guessed that the masked Fae that had entered her bedroom wasn’t the real deal from the very start. Then again, to be fair, she had been distracted by the prospect of being dragged to Hell.

Sarah’s eyes ran over the cane’s cherry wood length, an unsettling feeling rising in her as a memory bubbled to the surface and her heart began to race for entirely different reasons. 

“Wait…a rattan cane…as in **caning?!** As in what happened to that kid on the news a couple of years ago?!” she gasped, alarm overwhelming her as she recalled the story from two years prior.

An American teen had been caned in Singapore for theft and vandalism back in ’94. Sarah recalled the reports of the gruesome damage the punishment had done to the young man’s body and her stomach churned. She began to buck against Jareth’s hold, her mouth flying open to command him to release her, but the immediate gentling of his touch gave her pause. Her tensed body momentarily stilled, as the Goblin King loosened his grip on her hair. 

His fingertips gently caressed away the sting rippling over the area of her scalp where he’d gripped her dark tresses—tenderly soothing away the minor hurt with soft, delicate strokes. His true name halted on her tongue. No…Jareth was many things, but a sadist wasn’t one of them.

“Hush, love. Calm yourself,” he murmured, planting reassuring kisses along the gritted line of Sarah’s jaw. “I am unfamiliar with the exact case to which you’re referring. Rarely do I closely follow Aboveground current events or politics. Yet I assure you, I’d rather chop my own hand off at the wrist than do you real harm. I am familiar with the corporal punishment of caning, but let me assure you with the utmost sincerity, that it is not at all what I intend to do to you. I merely wish to stripe your delectable backside—to mark you as mine, so there is no longer even a hint of doubt as to whom you belong.”

The idea of _belonging to him_ should have filled Sarah with nothing but indignation…but it didn’t.

“This cane, just like your bonding chain, is infused with magic. It will not split your skin, no matter how hard it is wielded,” Jareth continued. “I very much want to mark you, precious—to make you come and cry out as my hands, and this cane, elicit pain and pleasure from your body. I do not, however, wish to see you bleed or suffer.”

His fingers danced down to the base of her skull, as he put his greedy mouth to work pressing wet, hungry kisses over the column of Sarah’s throat. Maybe she was as gullible as Eve, but she believed him—her back slowly relaxing against the warmth of Jareth’s chest, a quiet mewl of surrender easing from her parted lips. 

“B-but, h-how will you know if I can’t take it?” Sarah licked her lips, her nerves not completely appeased.

Jareth took his time answering, his uneven teeth grazing over her flushed skin, moving down to the curve of her shoulder as her toes curled and dug for purchase against the stone floor. Sarah listened to him inhale slowly, as if he were savoring the scent of her skin, before murmuring his reply against the wet flesh of her thoroughly kissed neck.

“Mmm. You are familiar with the concept of a safeword, yes?” he asked, his tone dark,

“Isn’t everyone nowadays?” she replied, slightly breathless.

“Well then, pick a word and if you feel you absolutely must, simply say it and trust that I will stop. No matter what. I swear it, on my crown.”

Sarah felt her mouth involuntarily quirk up at the corners. It was kind of funny—the Goblin King, discussing safewords. How much more surreal could the night (or was it day?) get? She wanted to point out that she could just use his true name and force him to stop if she wanted to but thought better of it. He had trusted her, had made himself unequivocally vulnerable to her with such a gift. She supposed she should stop using it unless absolutely necessary. After all, she had made him bark like a dog…

“Frangipane,” she answered him quietly, vaguely remembering Karen and Uroma heatedly debating over the best way to make the sweet almond cream dessert filling during dinner, which now felt like eons ago.

As far as safewords went, Sarah supposed _frangipane_ wasn’t completely terrible. It was fairly easy for her to pronounce and was undeniably memorable. Besides, it had been the first thing to come to mind and if she paused long enough to wrack her brain for a better word, it was entirely possible she’d end up chickening out.

“Good girl,” Jareth praised, close to her ear, a fresh rush of heat making her clench her thighs together tightly. 

Sarah’s mouth opened in a small, round _O_ at the rush of indecent sensation that came with the unexpected pet name. Since when did she need Jareth’s praise?! Before she could angle her head to brush her mouth over his in a timid kiss of encouragement, he vanished once again—causing her to blink rapidly in surprise. Mourning the loss of his closeness, Sarah whipped her head around to see Jareth once again standing before her, rattan cane in hand.

“Now, precious...I want you to turn around and kneel on your hands and knees. Make sure you’re as close to the edge of the bed as possible. Put that lovely arse in the air for me,” the Goblin King commanded, the authoritative, no-nonsense tone of his voice making her ache with a level of urgency that she had never before imagined her body capable of.

“Did I stutter? I said **now**.” While he wasn’t exactly shouting, the command was rough, forceful—brokering on aggressive, and goddamn if it didn’t make Sarah feel as if she was burning from the inside out.

“B-but...” she protested, tugging pointedly on the chain that held her arms over her head, but found the enchanted object suddenly, and surprisingly, compliant.

The silver chain slackened after just a couple of tugs, glowing just the tiniest bit brighter as it lengthened to accommodate her movement, allowing her to lower her wrists back down to her lap.

“As I said before, your bonding chain is in tune with my preferences and desires. I want you to do as you are told, so the chain will allow it. My patience grows short though, love. Continue to dawdle, and I may just have to slap that wet little cunt of yours until you do as you've been ordered,” Jareth told her bluntly.

Sarah found herself moving to carry out his orders even as she gaped at him, her heart racing with an undeniable rush of exhilaration. He hadn’t lied, the chain continued to accommodate her movements as she gingerly turned her back to him, and shakily fumbled to all fours.

“Very good, darling. Now back up just a smidge. Forearms on the mattress. Backside up, yes, like that...Perfect.” Sarah did as he instructed, finding it all too easy to allow herself to be led and commanded. While she wasn’t sure how she felt about that, she found that at that moment, she didn’t particularly care. 

“Gods…You. Are. A. Vision,” Jareth murmured, his voice sounding somewhat strained for the first time. His praise made her cheeks burn, but also sent a warmth through her that made her pulse flutter.

She kneeled there at the foot of the bed in tense silence for what felt like an eternity—completely exposed as she waited for the Goblin King to make his next move. She didn’t know if she should speak. Should she ask him to begin, or would that ruin the fantasy? A million uncertainties began to run through her head, her nerves coiled tight and her physical awareness dialed up to eleven. That dial cranked even further when the slow caress of Jareth’s bare palm crept over the curve of her spine, and she all but jumped clear out of her skin.

“Shh…easy now…” he whispered as if he were calming a spooked horse.

Sarah bristled at his response, narrowing her eyes. She wasn’t a skittish mare, for crying out loud! She turned her head to tell him exactly where he could shove his _easy now_ , but her retort caught in her throat as Jareth slid his deft fingers over her backside and between her thighs. He wasted no time in dragging the pads of his index and forefinger over her clit in a slow, agonizing circle, their journey made all too easy by just how wet she already was. 

A strangled cry escaped Sarah, as once again her body knew nothing but the rising pleasure and heat that Jareth brought with each wicked touch. Her back arched—body already straining to hold herself up as he rubbed, flicked, and stroked her. 

That familiar, impending pressure was already building low in her belly, each rub of the Goblin King’s fingertips feeling more incredible than the last. Her breath began to quicken, and she found herself grinding her hips back to meet his fingertips, asking without words for anything more he would give her. 

“It will be four strokes of the cane I think,” Jareth murmured as he continued to work her over with unrelenting enthusiasm. “One stroke for agreeing to see that lowly mortal again. The second for your cheek on the porch earlier. The third for abusing the power of my true name and making me bark like a mongrel. And the final stroke...”

Sarah felt the bed dip. Jareth must have placed his knee on the edge to lean down close.

“The final stroke will be just for me, love—to send you over the edge and come screaming for me like a madwoman.” As he spoke those loaded words, he maneuvered his fingers to pinch her clit ever so lightly and Sarah nearly screamed, an altogether unflattering noise bubbling up from her throat as she felt the sweet peaking sensation of her approaching orgasm. 

Sadly, her pleasure didn’t last long. Before she could crest and soar on that wave, Jareth drew his hand away, fingers dancing playfully along her inner thighs, nails dragging against her sensitive skin. The next noise she made was laced with annoyance and, dare she admit it, disappointment. 

Jareth chuckled, the rich sound of his laughter leaving her feeling a little mocked. “Punishment before pleasure, pet,” he replied, and Sarah could all but feel the smug grin in his response.

Then the cane was back, brushing smoothly over her buttocks in a way that somehow managed to feel like a tease and a threat at the very same time. She let out a soft whimper. Whether it was from anxiety about being struck with an infamous implement of corporal punishment or some sort of strange anticipation for it, Sarah wasn’t entirely sure.

“Count the strokes, love,” Jareth ordered, a shift in his tone alluding to barely checked restraint.

“Me? B-but…I…” Sarah stammered, her mind reeling with another flareup of indecision.

Counting the strokes would most definitely make her overthink things again, and frankly, she didn’t want to think anymore. She didn’t want to be the one to finalize anything, because then she might talk herself out of it. Why couldn’t he just be the one to count? Why couldn’t he just take complete control? Wasn’t that what this was about?

The Goblin King cleared his throat, drawing her out of the churning maelstrom of her thoughts and back into the moment with him. “I won’t take the situation entirely out of your hands. I will not strike you until you count. There will be no more denial—no more pretense that this isn’t something you want. You can count…or I can simply do _this_ all morning.”

With that, Jareth’s very capable fingers were back on her clit, rubbing and teasing until she was a breathless, panting mess—the warm haze of release just on the horizon...until it was so rudely snatched away once more when he withdrew his hand yet again. 

“I could continue to carry on like this, you know. I could keep you on the razor’s edge of coming for hours. It would be such maddening, exquisite torture…” Jareth told her matter-of-factly, now running his hand leisurely down the curve of her spine, leaving a slick trail of her own moisture on her bare back.

“Or…” 

Sarah strained her neck to pointedly glare at him from over her shoulder, as to the best of her current ability, as if to say, _get to the point, jackass!_

“I could fulfill your request and return you home. We could forget this ever happened. Isn’t that what you wanted? What you have been so persistently asking for?” 

Sarah saw him flash her a grin of satisfaction from the corner of her eye. He never failed to see right through her and frankly, it was annoying as hell. He knew there was no way she would ask him to bring her back to her parents’ house—not now. He was calling her bluff. 

“I…” she stammered, caught somewhere between the desire raging like an inferno inside her and wanting to save face.

“Yes? Go on,” Jareth pressed, his hand slipping back into place between her legs—if only to tease her. His fingers danced just beyond her entrance, so close that if she leaned back and angled a certain way they would be inside of her. 

“I’ll…I’ll count,” Sarah replied breathlessly, desperately aching for the release he denied her.

“Just as I thought,” he responded, and Sarah felt the bed dip as he stood once more. “Be a good girl, then. Take a breath, and on the exhale, count.”

On the heels of one final inhalation, Sarah finally managed to breathe out a shaking, “O-one.”

The faint whistling of Jareth’s implement slicing through the air was her only warning before the cane cracked down on her right buttock.

The air rushed from Sarah’s lungs as she let out a startled cry—her body jerking in response. It stung, spectacularly so—the molten burn of the strike lighting up her senses. The sharp sting sent sparks skittering across her skin, yet, to her surprise, the pain wasn’t unbearable. A dull ache settled in, but it didn’t feel like being beaten. It felt...different. More surprising still, when she had a moment to suck in a gulping breath, and the sting of the cane’s stripe on her bare ass had eased just the tiniest bit, she felt a sharp, needy pulse of excitement between her legs. 

Staying true to his ability to know exactly what she needed before she realized it herself, Sarah felt Jareth’s hand slide back into place between her parted thighs. This time, his fingers slipped through her folds until they were poised at her entrance, just barely dipping inside. He must have set the cane down momentarily, as the fingers of his free hand were ghosting over the mark he had just left on her ass.

“Oh!” was all Sarah managed to gasp, her eyes falling shut as she bucked her hips back towards those digits. 

She was torn between begging him to plunge said fingers inside of her and clenching her thighs together. A shudder coursed through her when his palm dragged heavily over the length of the mark on her ass, pressing along the thin (undoubtedly red) line just as he sunk one finger achingly slow inside of her.

“Oh, _God,_ ” she whispered, dropping her head to the mattress and rocking her hips back as a second finger joined the first.

“No gods here, Sarah, only kings. But if you insist, your _God_ demands you keep counting. You need a bit more color to keep things even, don’t you agree?” His voice overwhelmed her as he drew his fingers back before plunging them in once more, curving them to find that spot that would make her see stars.

“Yes!” the agreement fell from Sarah’s lips before she could think.

“Continue counting then,” Jareth prompted. He dragged his fingers inside her once, twice more, before removing them.

Sarah paused to take a fortifying breath before she continued.

“T-two,” she whispered, so low that for the briefest moment, she wasn’t even sure if he’d heard her.

_CRACK!_

Oh, he’d heard her alright.

Again, all of the air in Sarah’s lungs rushed from her body as the jarring sting of the cane bloomed across the left side of her buttocks. Oh god, it _burned_ , but still, she wouldn’t classify the pain as too much or extreme. Yes, she could take it. She could take it just fine.

Her body reacted just as it had to the first stroke, with a startling spike of need that had her pussy desperately clenching once again—making her all too aware of how empty she was. Perhaps it was time she told him.

“I…I need you…” Sarah whispered, turning her head back to try to catch a glimpse of him over her shoulder. She realized then how much she longed to see his face, no matter how often she wanted to slap it. 

She shuddered at the sudden hard warmth of Jareth's chest pressing against her straining back—the feel of leather kissing her spread inner thighs.

“And what precisely is it of mine that you need?” He growled against the back of her neck.

“I think you know…” Sarah murmured, blindly grinding back against him until she felt the rigid, unmistakable outline of him against her bare skin.

Jareth’s body stiffened against hers and she heard his intake of breath as she ground against him. Her heart raced, and she felt a dizzying sort of pride at the barely suppressed groan that sounded from behind her as one of Jareth’s hands landed on the bed beside her. He leaned over her, his fingers fisted in the bedding as he rocked forward, thrusting his erection against her ass in a manner most unbecoming of a king. Sarah let out a whimper of her own at the hot leather against her skin. She ground back against him, eagerly trying to angle her hips to get the right sort of friction.

“Oh, no you bloody don’t, greedy little minx,” Jareth hissed from behind her, though there was a modicum of amusement in his voice. One hand slid up the back of her neck to again thread in the hair at the base of her skull, tugging with just enough force to make her tip her head back while the other gripped hard at her waist

“I want you to say it, Sarah. I want to hear it. You know how I love to hear you say your right words.”

“I want…” the words came out on a mewl of frustration when she tried to push back on him once again but found her hips pinned in place by his squeezing grip. “…your cock, Your Majesty,” she finally admitted. “Please, I need it, I--I need you.”

Sarah swore that she could _feel_ the animalistic snarl Jareth let out in response down to the very marrow of her bones. Fire burned through her as she squirmed restlessly against the plush golden pelt beneath them, unintentionally dragging her peaked nipples over the soft fur. The delicious, plush slide of it made an involuntary whimper bubble up from the well of her throat— her toes reflexively curling in on themselves. 

She couldn’t recall any other man ever making her feel anything even close to what she was feeling at this moment—like she was continuously falling down that same dark, cavernous expanse that had landed her here in the first place. 

As if the Goblin King shared her sentiment, he buried his mouth at the tender apex of her neck and shoulder. As soon as his lips met her throat, he released a stream of mumbled curses against her skin, and before she could even begin to make heads or tails of what he was saying, Jareth bit down. 

It wasn’t a painful nip. It was only hard enough to lightly pinch her skin. All the same, a breathy cry rent from Sarah’s throat—more from the exquisite experience of hearing and feeling the arrogant, imposing Goblin King’s control begin to unravel for her, than the bite of his teeth. 

Jareth was right, she realized. There was power in letting go, and even though she was the one fully exposed and chained, she could make him all but lose his mind with just a few choice words. Yes, she was at his mercy…but he was also very much at hers. The realization floored her, causing her previously Kevin-diminished pride to swell, and making her feel more desired than she’d ever felt in her whole life.

“Two more strokes of the cane, then I **must** have you. You are torturing me, Sarah. If I don’t bury myself in you soon, I’m certain to go mad,” Jareth gasped against her throat and Sarah felt his tongue lick at the sensitive patch of skin he’d just bitten.

“Get on with it then,” she replied through gritted teeth, almost tauntingly—the idea of him thrusting inside her clenching heat enough to make her crave the biting sting of the cane with a renewed ferocity. 

“Very well. As ever, I am but your slave, my queen,” he responded, a bit of his coolly controlled demeanor returning, making her itch to continue chipping away at his willpower and fully reveal the needy, impulsive being beneath the polished exterior. He ground his hips against hers once more before withdrawing. 

“Resume counting,” he prompted from behind her, barely checked restraint now evident in his voice.

Every inch of her body felt hot and open, the skin of her backside aching and resonating with pinpricks that traveled down the backs of her thighs. Her legs shook slightly from holding herself up, and she knew her body had tensed again in between the sweet caress of the cane and Jareth’s attentions.

But she wasn’t afraid anymore. If anything, she was excited, anxious, even, to see what was about to happen, to _feel_ what was about to happen. Sarah took a deep breath, barely having to think before she exhaled and counted out the next stroke of the cane.

“Three…”

Once more, the cane cracked against Sarah’s right buttock, her body giving an instinctive buck at the jolting strike. Another overwhelming bolt of pleasure throbbed between her legs, as her overly sensitized nerves fully processed the pain of the new stripe across her doubtlessly scarlet ass.

“Such a…good girl for me…” Jareth murmured from behind her, the control in his voice edging closer and closer to nonexistent. 

_Such a good girl for me…_

She wasn’t sure how those simple words could turn her insides to butter—why they made her want to rub against him like a cat in heat and shamelessly beg for more. What was it about hearing him say things like that, that made her feel as if she had been waiting for someone to say them her whole adult life? Maybe she had…

“Such exemplary behavior deserves a reward I think,” Jareth informed her, his tone ringing with forced control.

She felt his free hand creep over the curve of her hip, as light and promise filled as a whisper in the dark as he settled himself behind her once more. He then slid it back through the close-cropped curls of her mound and right back to where she wanted (no, **needed** ) his touch the most.

“Tell me, love…” Jareth leaned down, again pressing his bare chest against the arch of Sarah’s perspiration-dotted back, to whisper directly in her ear—low and sinful as the serpent himself. “How are you enjoying your punishment?”

At those words, Sarah was reminded of that dank, shadowed tunnel in the labyrinth when she was fifteen. She recalled how his nearness had made her feel inexplicably hot all over—how her fingers had itched to reach out for him, how her hormone-driven mind had toyed with the batshit crazy notion of pulling him close by the lapels of that maroon leather jacket to press her mouth to his. While her sensible side may have prevailed then, presently, with the pad of Jareth’s index finger circling her clit, she couldn’t help but appreciate the irony of it all—of how they’d ended up after all these years. 

“You haven’t answered me,” Jareth persisted, an almost menacing edge in his tone—his vigorously stroking finger not missing a single beat. 

“I-it’s a piece of cake!” she moaned, unable to pass up a chance to remind him of that moment, of that exchange between them. She knew she was tempting his ire as soon as the words left her mouth, but she didn’t care. 

“Oh, you darling little chit,” Jareth whispered, hints of amusement and something akin to pride mixed in his tone. “As much the brat as ever, I see. Tell me, Sarah mine, how will you deal with this...little...slice?” As he spoke, his fingers speared her all at once, a sweet sting of a stretch that he repeated rapidly as he waited for her answer. 

She swore and dropped her head against the mattress, hips twisting wildly as she tried to resist bucking against his hand. His free hand smoothed up her side, just barely ghosting the underside of her breast, a stark contrast to his otherwise rough ministrations.

“You’re getting close, are you not?” he asked tersely, “You’re clenching, I can feel it.”

She could only manage a reluctant nod, squeezing her eyes shut as the sensations coursing through her threatened to overwhelm her. Skilled fingers found a peaked nipple, twisting in time with the thrusting fingers at her center.

“Then tell me, Sarah. Tell me that you are enjoying this. I need to hear it before I let you come,” Jareth demanded, the unrelenting steel of his resolve audible in his tone.

“I…” she began, the quickening of her body turning her would-be words to unsubstantial mush on her tongue.

“Is it not exhausting, keeping up the pretense?” Jareth hissed in her ear, slowing the urgent motion of his fingers inside of her as his other hand left her breast to trail her stomach. His thumb and forefinger met no resistance as they swirled and pinched. “Haven’t you grown weary of all the pretending? Where is that brave, stubborn girl who jumped straight through the center of my Escher room, not knowing for certain what would come of such a rash action?” 

The pad of his thumb just barely circled her clit now, a teasing caress that was just a tad shy of the right amount of pressure she needed to come undone. 

“Where is your fearless passion now? Has the passing of time truly made you so soft that you would deny yourself even when your moment of truth is at hand?” He pressed mercilessly on as if he were trying to infuriate her; it was working. “Have you really become that much of a shrinking violet that you would turn your back to the one thing you have wished for since your university days?”

Sarah sucked in a sharp, startled breath. Of course, she had suspected…but she hadn’t quite prepared herself for the cold shock of Jareth’s sudden confirmation.

“You watched me!” She hissed, twisting her head just enough to the side so she could glare accusingly at him from the corner of her eye. She wasn’t entirely sure if his little declaration had her outraged, or so turned on she was practically out of her mind with need for him.

Both, she quickly decided. It was most definitely both.

“Oh, my darling, there is no need for all the fuss. ” She could almost hear him rolling his eyes at her. “You were very much aware it was a possibility. Every time you looked at those filthy pictures in your roommate’s magazines. Every time you made yourself come with those naughty little fingers.” 

At the mention of _“fingers,”_ Jareth’s began to move just a tad quicker, flexing and stretching her while his thumb continued to tease.

“You knew I could be watching. You knew it, and the very idea of it made you weak in the knees—made you come all the harder. Tell me, did you picture me?” 

Of course, Sarah knew she had. No matter how many times she had started out with someone else in mind, a celebrity, whoever she had been dating at the time, even the faceless, nameless people she fantasized about ended up with blonde hair and slightly pointed teeth.

“Did you imagine me stroking my cock to the sight of you pleasuring yourself? Because I did.”

Those last words were a hoarse, unrefined whisper in her ear, and they did something to her—something Sarah couldn’t articulate if she’d tried. Those gruff, sincere, words chipped away the last vestiges of her reluctance and instantly bolstered her confidence in a way she had never before dreamed possible. He was right. Why pretend that she wasn’t enjoying every last bit of this?

“Finish it, with the cane…please,” she panted, twisting her hips to move her body away from him, attempting to dislodge his fingers.

A low growl sounded from behind her, tickling the insides of her ears and she could feel the rumbling vibrations against her back, where the hard planes of his body pressed against her. 

“I will finish nothing until you tell me, **now** ,” the Goblin King snarled, and before she could even open her mouth to attempt to answer, his left hand was gripping her hip while the right delved between her legs and…

_Smack!_

Sarah jolted as Jareth carried out his earlier threat, delivering a firm, but not too intense, slap directly against her mons. It didn’t hurt—there had only been enough force behind it to get her attention. If anything, she was more startled by the fact that it had sent a heated thrill through her system, an involuntary moan leaving her lips before she could even begin to think of biting it back.

“Tell me!” he demanded again, harsher this time. The sweet bite of the smack made her clench her thighs together. The Goblin King was having none of it, one hand firmly gripping the inside of her thigh to push them back open.

_Smack!_

The flat of Jareth’s palm came down between her thighs once more and Sarah’s breath hitched, her hips jerking in response at the sting. A needy cry escaped her as she instinctively pushed back on him—her striped backside grinding back on the hard outline of his cock. Her skin was tender, and the flare of discomfort as she ground against his leather-clad erection only heightened the intensity. 

“Are you done playing these tiresome games now, pet? Are you ready to do as you are told?” Jareth grunted harshly in her ear.

“Yes…” she whimpered.

“And?” he prompted.

“I…I’m enjoying my punishment.” Though her voice was barely above a whisper, Sarah felt a sense of relief settle over her once she finally admitted that she enjoyed everything Jareth had done to her. 

“Excellent…” he purred against her neck, his tone gentler now, the warm brush of his lips on the column of her throat putting her further at ease.

“Now, Sarah, you need to finish it. Count the last stroke,” Jareth urged.

There was a pleading quality to his words—a hint of desperation that made that sense of power he had previously mentioned flare hotly within her. Damn…she could get used to this, Sarah thought. The feeling Jareth had described, of finding power in her loss of control, had completely overwhelmed her and combined with the effect it seemed to be having on the Goblin King, she could feel herself running high on the combined euphoria of pain, pleasure, and power. 

“Four…” she spoke clearly, just barely holding back a moan as she felt his pointed teeth nip at the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

Much to her surprise, the cane didn’t come cracking down against her backside. Instead, Jareth’s fingers doubled their efforts, tracing her slit to plunge back inside at a frenzied pace. She gasped as he all but attacked, pinching the sensitive bud of her clit between the pad of his thumb and pointer finger—tugging gently then rubbing his fingers together with her quivering bundle of nerves trapped between them. This time he showed no signs of stopping.

It took only a moment for the fluttering in her abdomen to reach a fever pitch, for the breathy pants to turn to a strangled series of whimpers and moans, encouraged by the filthy entreaties that Jareth was panting just beside her ear.

“That’s right, love, just like that. Gods, you are so beautiful like this. I want you to come for me now, Sarah. Be a good girl, that’s it—now, right now, your king commands it!”

Sarah did as she was told. 

Her body arched like a bow being drawn as a scream tore from her throat. At the peak of her orgasm, muscles spasming and hips locking, Sarah barely registered Jareth withdrawing his fingers from her to pick up the rattan cane. His thumb and forefinger never stilled, driving her through that breathless crest of pleasure until-

_CRACK!_

The cane came down on her already tender ass, the unexpected bite of the delayed final stroke somehow propelling her further. She shrieked, but not from the pain. The pain left her hyper-focused on the electric shocks still radiating through her, and what little breath that remained in her lungs left her in several shuddering gasps. Her fingers opened and closed reflexively several times, knuckles aching from where they had tightly clutched the furs on the bed beneath her.

Sarah’s head spun, and just as she felt she had finally caught her breath from what she was _sure_ had been the most intense orgasm she had ever had, she heard the cane clatter loudly to the stone floor. Jareth was behind her again, palms slipping over her heated backside and up her sides to clutch and paw at every inch of skin he could reach. 

“Oh, no, don’t think I’m done with you yet...Gods, Sarah, you cry out so beautifully, so needy, so...desperate. I want to hear it again,” the Goblin King’s fingers speared her roughly once more, eliciting a surprised wail from her as she attempted to get her bearings. 

Meeting no resistance, it was mere moments before his skilled digits had her overstimulated body shaking. Her voice was high and strained, sounding completely unlike herself as she, once again, chased that spiraling heat over the edge.

“Oh, oh please, ohfuckfuckyes -- ! ” Sarah whimpered, unable to do anything but clench and seize around those beautiful, incredible fingers as she was overcome yet again—body barely able to move except for the trembles and twitches that ricocheted through her, from her belly to her toes.

She all but melted into the mattress, and thankfully, the bonding chain remained slack enough to allow it. She felt the wet slide of Jareth’s fingers leaving her and wanted to moan at the loss, but could only manage a sort of pathetic wounded animal noise. 

“Not to worry, precious thing. I’m far from done with you,” came the amused response from behind her. 

Sarah huffed out an indignant breath, blowing hot air up to displace the hair that had fallen in her face during all her wild bucking. She was so damn tired…so depleted and boneless and utterly _spent_ that she couldn’t even turn her head to try and look at him, let alone sling a sarcastic remark his way. Instead, she focused on dragging air back into her stuttering lungs, listening to the crazed rhythm of her pulse pounding in her ears until it began to return to normal. 

Never in her life had she imagined anyone could make her feel like this…like she’d been taken apart and put back together, and become a new, better person in the process. Despite the invasion of her privacy, Sarah had to admit to herself that Jareth had given her a taste of something she’d fantasized about since college—finally letting go and trusting someone enough to give them complete control. The way he had spoken to her, played her body so finely—had known exactly when she would fall over the edge... 

It made her shudder against the pelt she lay on, a dull, tingling sensation beginning in her scalp and coiling all the way down to the soles of her feet. Her whole body seemed to hum, and she made a silent vow to _misbehave_ again as soon as possible, as long as it meant that anything even remotely like what had just happened would be the outcome. As exhausted as she was, Sarah knew she was far from done. She wanted so much more, to return every single touch, kiss, and taste that Jareth had taken in the past hours. She felt suddenly consumed with the need to touch him, painfully aware of the fact that she barely had. 

Just as Sarah was about to summon the remainder of her strength to roll over and search Jareth out, she heard the loud, jarring click of his boots against the stone floor. Hell, even _sounds_ seemed amplified at the moment, and she found she had to close her eyes to keep herself from becoming too overwhelmed.

To her right, there came the rustling of fabric, followed by the sharp _thunk_ of what she guessed to be the Goblin King’s belt buckle hitting the floor. 

On second thought, maybe she wasn’t quite so tired after all.


	8. The Mirror and the Sudden Gift of Inspiration

Before Sarah could open her mouth to call Jareth over, he abruptly materialized, just beside the bed—right before her eyes. Her heart practically lodged itself within the tight confines of her windpipe and she all but forgot how to breathe.

_Oh…oh wow…_

The Goblin King wore nothing but his amulet. Judging from his arrogant, confidant stance—shoulders back, hands on his hips, legs slightly apart, he was fully aware of just how impressive he was in his state of undress.

Sarah had always known that he would look incredible _au natural._ After all, his preference for skintight pants left little to the imagination. Yet nothing could have quite prepared her for the reality that was Jareth fully in the buff. All the usual descriptors, _handsome, beautiful, gorgeous, magnificent…_ every single one of them fell short somehow. He was…well…Sarah wasn’t sure the right words to describe _His Majesty_ even existed.

_Nope…no words…none whatsoever…_

Well, there was _“flawless,”_ she conceded. Oh, yes, flawless was most definitely fitting. There wasn’t a single blemish on his smooth, inviting skin, not so much as a freckle. Hell, Jareth didn’t even have body hair, except for a light dusting of silvery-blonde pubic hair above his groin. Other than that, he was smooth all over, and Sarah couldn’t help but wonder if it was a personal grooming choice or some Fae genetic trait. Not that it mattered…she certainly wouldn’t be kicking him out of bed.

Jesus Christ, she couldn’t stop staring at him! Again, and again her heated gaze languorously raked over his toned calves, up to his strong, bare thighs, then further still—right up to the longest, thickest cock she had ever seen, standing proudly at attention between his parted legs. Sarah had never really considered herself a _“size queen.”_ However, now that she’d gotten an eyeful of Jareth in all his bare glory, she was suddenly certain she had just been spoiled on all other men for life.

She had also never thought of a cock as _beautiful_ before. A cock was a cock, simple as that. Barring the possibility of a guy’s member having some sort of hideous deformity, Sarah had never imagined a need to fixate on the aesthetic appeal of what a man was packing in his pants one way or the other.

Yet, looking at Jareth’s rather sizable, and indisputably perfect, _asset_ no other word except for _beautiful_ came to her mind. Yeah, so she still had a few minor concerns about the fit of him inside of her being comfortable, but she was now more than willing to give it an enthusiastic try. She resisted the urge to let out a self-effacing chuckle when she recalled how she had inwardly assured herself that there would be no Goblin King fucking only a few moments prior.

_Way to stand strong with that unshakable iron will of yours, Williams…_

However, when she finally allowed her gaze to directly meet his, all coherent thought, self-mocking or otherwise, disappeared under the heat of Jareth’s penetrating stare. Jesus…the intensity of that look…like he would pounce on her at any second—the type of look a ravenous predator would give its cornered prey, just before striking. Her core immediately tightened in a shivery rush of anticipation. Yet, to Sarah’s utter disappointment, he didn’t so much as move a fraction of an inch closer.

For a long, tension laden moment, neither of them uttered a single syllable or moved so much as muscle—the sound of Sarah’s pumping heartbeat suddenly ridiculously loud in her own ears. She wasn’t sure if the silence stretched on because there was just _too much_ to say, or if it was born of the irrational fear that any further words might break whatever heady, primal spell that had woven itself around them.

For Sarah at least, it was a combination of both, but she supposed it didn’t really matter. Their heavy-lidded, hungry stares communicated in a way that transcended all spoken language. Her eyes then dropped back down to Jareth’s cock: she just couldn’t seem to help herself! It was like trying not to stare in wonder at a solar eclipse in progress—much too enthralling to look away.

Her entranced gaze instantly fixated on the pearlescent bead of precum that had gathered at the tip of the Goblin King’s jutting shaft. Before she was even aware of the involuntary action, her tongue swiped across her lips and her mind instantly filled with shamelessly filthy musings—guesses as to what he might taste like and rough estimates of just how much of him she could take down her throat before gagging.

Apparently, nothing escaped Jareth’s keen powers of observation. His eyes immediately narrowed on her tongue-moistened lips, a low growl-like rumble emitting from low in his throat.

“I warn you now, love. If you continue to stare at me, licking your luscious lips like that... I will have to insist that you put that pretty mouth of yours to use, in all the ways I can see you’re imagining,” he said thickly, finally moving closer, his bare legs flush against the side of the bed.

_Oh…well then…in that case…_

Sarah found herself automatically wiggling her way to a sitting position, reaching for him with bound hands, stopping to frown down at her sterling tether. She would be needing the unhindered use of her hands for what she wanted to do next and the damn chain was certainly going to put a damper on things.

Again, Jareth’s knack for astute observation proved useful, because no sooner had she scowled back down at the chain, did he give a commanding flick of his fingers. The bonding chain instantly unwound from around Sarah’s wrists and slithered back up to its previous position on the chandelier.

She cast the freaky thing one last wary look before turning her attention back to the very nude, very aroused Goblin King who still glared down at her with kohl-rimmed eyes, in a manner that turned her insides to warm, gooey jelly. Sarah dared a coy smile and his expression further darkened. However, there was no anger glinting in his gaze, only raw, desperate wanting.

“Do it. Take me in your mouth,” Jareth gritted out between clenched teeth and something about that gruff, tense command set her blood on fire.

Before she could second guess the action, Sarah scooted closer. She quickly tucked her shaking legs beneath her to crouch on her knees before him on the pelt-topped mattress. She was helpless to resist the burning urge to touch him now that the chain had released her wrists, her palms instantly coming to a rest on the warm, smooth skin of Jareth’s hard, defined abdominals.

Sarah let her hands slide downward at a leisurely, teasing pace that was completely at odds with the sharp, giddy thrum of excitement that pulsed all throughout her body, like a pounding bass backbeat. She couldn’t quite help the mischievous grin that tweaked at the corners of her mouth, as she silently appreciated the feel of his wiry muscles clenching beneath her eager hands. She affected him every bit as much as he affected her—the mighty king of the goblins…in dire need of her touch, of her mouth on his cock.

At that thought, she felt all but drunk on smug satisfaction. Before Jareth could utter another impatient command, Sarah trailed her taunting fingertips along the shallow grooves at either side of his sharply cut Apollo’s belt. She reveled in the soft, hissing gasp of anticipation he let out when her hands came to a pause at the base of his cock, her fingertips lightly curling into his thatch of wiry, pale pubic hair. 

Lord help her, but Sarah silently swore that for as long as she lived, she would **never** forget a single detail about this night—no, scratch that...it was almost day now, she reminded herself. Nevertheless, every searing look Jareth gave her, every sound he uttered, every single amazing, filthy thing he did to her…she would engrave it all within the vault of her memory. Hers to keep, forever. No matter what happened afterward. No regrets.

Sarah had no idea what it would mean for them going forward. She had no real way of knowing that it wasn’t a _one night only_ type of deal. There was no written in stone guarantee that all of Jareth’s bluster about her being _his_ wasn’t just a bunch of talk.

He’d said he loved her but weren’t the Fae notoriously fickle and impulsive? She’d read countless stories of the Fair Folk coupling with mortals, practically promising them the world, then quickly changing their minds when the _deed_ was done—leaving their jilted human lovers to pine for them until the poor, unlucky saps wasted away and died of a broken heart.

What if the Goblin King decided his feelings had changed when all was said and done? Could she even survive that? And yet…there was the way he kept calling her _his queen._ What the hell was that about?! Her heart fluttered at the thought of the implications that pet name presented—of said implications becoming a reality…as impossible as it may be.

What would it be like, to rule by Jareth’s side in his world, to call the Underground her home? Why did she feel an odd warmth blooming in the center of her chest the second her mind (obviously not in its right state) had drifted down the path of promises and commitment to the Goblin King?

Why did an alarmingly resolute sense of belonging suddenly root itself inside her, shooting through her veins like a drug, embedding itself within the marrow of her bones? It left Sarah with the distinct impression that there would be no getting rid of it now—that it was somehow a part of her very being…that _he_ was a part of her…

 _Focus, Williams! Leave it to you to practically start picking out china patterns after a few orgasms...a few spectacular, bone-melting orgasms, but still. How would a relationship with Jareth even work anyway? Talk about impossible odds! You’re not even the same species, remember?_ She chided herself.

_Worry about all that later…much, much later…_

Staring deliberately into those haunting, dual-colored eyes, Sarah loosely gripped his cock by the leaking tip and gave the underside of his shaft a long, tauntingly slow, lick from base to end.

_Oh…damn…_

The feel of Jareth’s warm, smooth skin beneath her tongue, coupled with the choked groan that issued from between his clenched lips, shot straight to her core. Again, Sarah felt a surge of sexually charged adrenaline—that power he’d talked of, that dizzying, toe-curling sensation that she was becoming fast addicted to. Having Jareth in the palm of her hand, both literally and figuratively, there was no other feeling remotely comparable. Heaven help her…she immediately wanted more.

She was all but high on the feelings he’d stirred up inside her—floating far above the plane of reality. Light-headed lust swirled with manic desire, melding with something much heavier…much stronger. It was tied tight to that deep-rooted, hopelessly connected feeling that suddenly flooded her system in a wash of breathless, stomach-fluttering, almost euphoric-like, anxiousness.

Sarah moved her hand to grip him lower, hatching sudden plans to play and tease at his tip and not wanting to get in her own way. The way Jareth’s hips bucked forward, in a wordless demand for more, immediately stirred up a burning need to taunt him further—to give him a tiny taste of his own medicine. She wanted to torture him with painfully sweet, drawn-out pleasure, just as he had done to her. A positively wicked grin curled her lips as Sarah placed a gentle kiss on the head of his cock.

Oh, how she loved the sound of his harshly muttered _“Gods…Sarah…,”_ as she paused and made a show of slowly licking away the sticky precum that had smeared on her mouth from the brief contact.

The taste of him was pure addiction—salty, with a hint of underlying sweetness. The craving for more was almost startling in its intensity, the desperate pulse between her legs spurring her on. She grinned all the wider when she noted the Goblin King’s stare was completely fixated and keenly tracking the movement of her tongue.

Jareth’s slightly pointed teeth dug into the flesh of his lower lip, as he visibly grappled with his internal impulses once again—nostrils flared, white-knuckled fists clenched at his sides. Sarah reveled in it. She drank in his reaction like warm, mulled wine pouring down her throat.

She had always found him undeniably attractive. Yet, in that moment, Sarah couldn’t seem to recall **ever** seeing anything more awe-inspiringly beautiful than Jareth overcome with desire for her. 

She could have looked up at him like that all day, hopelessly lost in that penetrating, mismatched stare that always seemed to somehow peer into even the most shadowed, hidden parts of her. Yet, where was the fun in just looking when she could be doing so, **so** much more? With that thought burning in the forefront of her mind, Sarah swiped her tongue over Jareth’s leaking tip.

His reaction was instantaneous and fierce, his hands flying to the back of her head to grip tightly in her hair. The light burn of her scalp being tugged by the clutch of Jareth’s gripping fingers sent delicious shivers zinging down Sarah’s spine. She loved that he always seemed to know just how much pain would be pleasurably stimulating for her without stepping over the line.

“Wicked tease,” Jareth admonished breathlessly when she only twirled her tongue around the head of his cock.

Sarah relished the sharp, hissing intake of his breath when she flicked her tongue against the sensitive ridge of his tip.

“Damnation, Precious! Take me in fully!” he snapped, his voice tinged with raw desperation, his fingers gripping tighter in her tousled tresses.

“Oh…but where would be the fun in that? Turnabout is fair play, Your Majesty,” Sarah murmured, feeling emboldened by the fact that her impatient king was now at **her** mercy.

“Shameless tart.” He glowered, but there was a touch of playfulness to his words that kept them from becoming insulting.

In lieu of a response, Sarah placed her mouth over the very tip of his cockhead, covering only the leaking slit.

 _Oh, I’ll show you shameless…_ she thought, smirking around his heated flesh—her tongue flicking against the tiny opening, languorously lapping up his salty essence.

Sarah watched his reaction with quiet satisfaction, as a volley of giddy butterflies beat their wings within the pit of her stomach. Jareth dropped his head back and let out another prolonged groan. What a marvelous thing, Sarah mused, to watch him begin the beautiful agony of falling apart for her—to watch his fraying self-control begin to give under the pleasure of her touch.

As if in tune with her thoughts, Jareth’s hips canted forward, trying to slide himself further past her lips, but Sarah would have none of it. If he thought she wasn’t going to draw it out exactly as he had done to her, he had another think coming.

She pulled back slightly and was surprised to feel his gripping fingers hesitantly release their hold. With that, the Goblin King lifted his head, kohl-rimmed eyes boring into hers, an odd mixture of confusion, annoyance, and abject longing glimmering brightly in their depths.

_Huh…_

Jareth had let go of her, even though it was more than obvious to Sarah that he’d love nothing more than to ram himself into the warmth of her mouth, over and over, until he spilled hotly down her throat. Oddly enough, there was something about that small gesture—of him releasing her, despite what he so very clearly wanted, that Sarah found oddly endearing.

As calculating and aggressive as he could be, when it all boiled down to it, Jareth wanted everything that happened between them to be her choice, she realized—reminding herself of the unexpected (and indisputably invaluable) gift of his true name. Her heartbeat suddenly tripped in its rhythm. So, yeah, facts were facts. He had shamelessly pushed her boundaries…and of course, there had been a great deal of manipulation, because Jareth was…well… **Jareth**. However, upon doing a quick mental recap of the night’s events, Sarah realized that he hadn’t carried out a single sexual act without an expressed consent of some kind.

Even now, with her being downright cruel with her teasing (not that he didn’t totally deserve a flip of the script), he was still clinging to the threadbare tatters of his control. Sarah knew all too well that Jareth was a being ruled by impulse. Many a time during her Labyrinth journey, she’d had to turn tail and run from the results of his lack of self-control, his knee-jerk reflexes made into a nightmarish reality.

With those smoky wisps of memory, a sudden realization came. Jareth was holding himself back for her—hell he'd made himself permanently vulnerable to her with his earlier gift, just so that she'd have a bit of assurance that what she was feeling was legit. Furthermore, even though Sarah was positive that he’d dearly love to slip back into his old habits—as easy as shrugging on an old, comfortable coat, he seemed like he now wanted to do things right. Ultimately, he wanted the choice to be hers. He had basically sacrificed his free will to make it so.

It was then that Sarah realized that somehow (against her better judgment) maybe…just maybe, she had fallen in love with the Goblin King just the tiniest bit. Well…maybe there was a hell of a lot more to it than a _tiny bit_.

Maybe she had felt that way from the second he had appeared in the window of Toby’s room ten years ago, windblown and looking like trouble incarnate. Maybe that was why his recent two-year absence had hurt so much; maybe a part of her had recognized that she cared about Jareth far more than she cared to admit. Maybe Uroma's earlier assessment of her feeling had been spot-on. Or perhaps, there was no _maybe_ about any of it…

“What could possibly be running through that mind of yours right now, I wonder,” Jareth murmured in a hushed, almost tender, tone that was completely at odds with the knee-weakening intensity that still burned bright in his gaze.

“I…umm…” Sarah replied with little more than a hesitant, threadbare whisper—unsure of just how to answer him, her face suddenly uncomfortably hot.

_Damn you, Goblin King..._

Just a few seconds ago she’d had the upper hand! Now, for the umpteenth time since he’d crept into her room dressed as Krampus, she felt completely disarmed! Jareth’s hands came to rest at the sides of her face and the pads of his thumbs caressed her cheeks with gentle, barely-there strokes. His unexpectedly sweet touch painted Sarah’s skin with tingling streaks of warmth that made her eyes go rather dreamy and half-lidded.

There was a long pause that stretched agonizingly on—her stubborn, useless tongue feeling as if it were glued to the roof of her mouth. The longer the seconds continued to tick heedlessly by Sarah became increasingly aware that she was stuck at an unfortunately awkward loss for words.

Fuck! She was so hopelessly tongue-tied, flustered, and very much unprepared to be thrust into such an overwhelming personal realization at such an inconvenient moment. Yet Jareth simply continued to silently assess her, in a way that made her wonder if it would ever be possible to keep secrets from him again. She felt like an open book, splayed out and carefully read, mental footnotes made in her invisible margins.

“Don’t doubt this, love. Don’t doubt me,” he assured her quietly, at last, just when she had begun to wonder if he’d ever speak again.

 _How can I not?_ Sarah wanted to ask. _What in our complicated, crazy history would ever assure me that you won’t break my heart the second I give it to you?_

Yet those words never left her lips, because really, what would have been the point in saying them? Hadn’t she already given Jareth her heart, long ago…on a crowded ballroom floor, as they’d waltzed to his song, amongst a swaying throng of masked dancers? Or had it been when he’d sung those heartbreaking words of regret to her in the Escher room? Who the hell knew?!

_Why worry over the particulars now?_

All the _whens_ , the _hows_ , and the _whys_ didn’t really matter; Sarah was beginning to understand that. All that mattered was them, living in the heat and passion of their time together, whether it be forever or mere stolen moments.

The time for second-guessing and indecision had long passed and Sarah couldn’t help but ask herself, what if all that it took to be genuinely happy was a blind leap of faith? Even if it was risky as hell…

_To heck with best-laid plans and all that…fortune favors the bold, right?_

Instead of a verbal response, she leaned forward and took the Goblin King fully in her mouth. Jareth’s hands instantly gripped in her hair once again—pale, slender fingers tugging at her tousled tresses like a lifeline, and again, Sarah’s gaze instinctively pinned his. The smoldering look she shot him from beneath her lashes was both a question and a promise rolled into one.

_Happy now? Oh, the things I’m going to do you…_

Jareth’s responding breathless gasp of pleasure was the exact answer she’d been seeking. She couldn’t help but wonder if his view was as enticing as she suspected it to be, with his hardness stretching her lips, as she obligingly closed them around his warm, straining shaft.

Sarah had never quite understood why some people wanted to watch themselves having sex, be it a dirty home movie or a conveniently placed mirror. She had always imagined that watching herself in _that_ way would make her feel horribly uncomfortable and unbearably awkward.

Hell, any time Kevin had even hinted that he wanted to bust out his camcorder during an intimate moment, she had felt her stomach all but coil in on itself with a nauseating wave of dread. Luckily, her ex hadn’t pushed her much, on the few occasions that she had shot down his offer to play cameraman to her inner porn star.

With Kevin, the idea had always seemed sleazy somehow and she had never been able to push past the overwhelming sense of wrongness it had continuously stirred within her. Sarah had then come to the regrettable conclusion that she must just be a lot more prudish than she had always thought.

But at that moment, with Jareth’s cock filling her mouth, she quickly realized how very mistaken she’d been. As she adjusted her hold on him and quickly reminded herself to relax her throat, Sarah was overcome with a sudden salacious urge to watch herself give him pleasure—a burning need that clawed at her insides with alarming persistence. Perhaps it wasn’t the notion that had been wrong, but her past partner.

“You are thinking too much again. I can tell,” Jareth grumbled, his voice strained, with an almost dazed, groggy quality to it.

He arched one artfully upswept brow as if to ask _“well, what is it?”_

Her old _friends_ (indecision and shame) immediately blanketed their familiar, smothering presence over her—threatening to choke off her answering reply with a wash of prickling, throat-tightening anxiety. What if Jareth laughed at her sudden request? What if he gave her that, _“wow, you’re a weirdo,”_ look that her ex had never hesitated to bestow upon her whenever she had even hinted about wanting to do something he hadn’t.

But…that was a ridiculous worry, wasn’t it? Hadn’t the Goblin King just proved that he was more than willing to indulge her secret fantasies? The still tender stripes on her ass served as an assurance of this. Trusting Jareth so far had earned her two of the best, most fulfilling, erotic experiences of her life. Why not go for a third? …Or a half a dozen while she was at it?

Slowly, Sarah pulled back, easing him from her mouth in a wet slide that made her clit ache and her nipples tingle with an impatient demand for touch. She instantly missed the hot smoothness of him against her tongue, the second his glistening shaft had cleared her lips.

“I…umm…was just thinking…” she began, unable to fight the sudden encroaching flare of stinging insecurity.

Her eyes were suddenly unable to meet Jareth’s any longer—his otherworldly gaze too sharp, too knowing. So, instead of looking directly at him, Sarah took an abrupt interest in visually pursuing the furs and bedding beneath her.

Oh, god…she wasn’t actually going to say it, was she? No, no, no, of course not! That would be totally humiliating, just randomly asking for something like that. She would never--

“…that it might be nice to watch. You know, like with a mirror or something? I want to see…”

_Jesus Christ Sarah! What are you doing?! What. Are. You. Freaking. Doing???_

“…what it looks like. With you disappearing down my throat.”

There. She’d said it.

As soon as those loaded words hit the already sexually charged air, Sarah felt a resulting spike of boldness. She then forced her wandering gaze to meet his piercing stare full on—her heart beating like a wild thing fighting to break free of the confining cage of her ribs.

“Have I taught you nothing, Sarah mine? Ask and it is yours,” he replied simply, but the popping veins of strain on his neck, as well as the rigidness of his posture, utterly belied his gentle tone.

Hadn’t she **just** asked though? Why was Jareth always so damn hellbent on completely obliterating her comfort zone with psychological dynamite? It had been difficult to drum up the nerve to ask what she had just the one time. Now he wanted her to ask again??? 

_Say your right words…_

Oh. Of course. His Majesty got his rocks off by making her ask for things in explicit detail. While she had painted a fairly vivid picture, she hadn’t completely spelled it all out. Fine. He wanted dirty talk? She’d give him dirty talk.

“Alright,” Sarah began with a small, sly smirk starting to take shape on her lips. “You want details? You want me to stop hiding in my safe zone and lay it all out for you? Okay then,” her tone grew positively haughty, meeting his challenge with all the taunting bravado of a matador waving a red cape at a charging bull. “I want you to conjure a mirror, so I can watch myself suck your cock. I want to watch your hardness fuck in and out of my mouth, until you come down my throat. Is that clear enough for you?”

Jareth only blinked owlishly down at her for a long moment, clearly not expecting her to be quite so unapologetically blunt. His nostrils flared, and his breath sounded almost labored.

 _Uh-oh…I went and broke him,_ Sarah thought with an inward giggle of triumph.

At last, a slow, positively wicked smile curved the Goblin King’s thin lips, as her crude words finally seemed to fully sink in. “I’m all too happy to accommodate my queen in this particularly alluring request,” he purred, his right hand releasing his hold on her hair to rise with a flourish.

A gleaming crystal suddenly appeared, balancing perfectly at the end of Jareth’s poised fingertips. With a flick of his index finger, the crystal floated up into the air, weightless and bubble-like. The crystal’s descent paused just up and over his right shoulder.

Sarah watched with curiosity, as the crystal began to flatten and expand itself, shaping into a large, oblong mirror right before her eyes. She had asked and he had provided, she surmised with a small grin, silently assessing the gravity-defying object with a warm tendril of excitement coiling low in her abdomen.

Sarah’s body tingled at the very idea of what was soon to come, as she eyed her own reflection, her lust-glazed eyes half-lidded, her nipples pebbled into turgid, rosy peaks, her hair a wild mess of dark tangles. She looked the very picture of a tempting nymph, just waiting to be pounced on.

Of course, the mirror was angled slightly downward, to give her the best possible view and Sarah found herself immediately spurred into action by the thrilling novelty of it. She took her time running her hands over Jareth’s stomach and thighs once again, peppering his warm skin with kisses as she went. His muscles quivered under her adoring hands and lips and she just couldn’t seem to get enough.

His visceral reaction to her attentions only further encouraged her, and Sarah dared to watch herself as she touched and teased him—utterly awed by the inhibition-free woman staring boldly back at her from the mirror, one dark brow arched as if in silent self-challenge.

_Come on, Sarah. You know you want to…_

“Do you like what you see, precious thing? Do you like watching yourself touch me?” Jareth murmured down to her in a husky tone that dripped with velvety-smooth, filthy promise. “Does this sort of thing excite you? Judging by the fact that your breath is now coming in staggered little pants, I’d wager that if I were to crouch down and check, I would find you...all but _dripping_ for me.”

His words practically knocked the wind from Sarah’s lungs and held her still for a moment. How was she even supposed to respond to something like that?! He also wasn’t wrong, she silently conceded. Every cell in her body hummed with a fierce spike of arousal that his dirty whispers sent shooting through her system like a bolt of lightning—effectively short-circuiting her brain.

“I’ll be needing an answer of some sort.” Jareth cast a hard look of impatience down at her, his fingers returning to the mussed chaos of her hair, tugging lightly until Sarah blinked up at him.

She was far too overwhelmed to manage anything other than a wobbly nod of confirmation. Luckily, the Goblin King didn’t push her to elaborate this time, and Sarah suspected that his ever-fraying patience had at last worn too thin to endure anymore delays.

“Take me back in the warm, wet haven of your mouth then,” he ordered in a strained rasp. “Watch in the mirror as your pretty, pink lips stretch wide to accommodate me.”

She nodded again, words failing her completely now. Feeling overwhelmed, Sarah silently reminded herself to breathe again. She took Jareth’s thick cock in hand once more, her eyes instantly pulled to the hovering mirror.

_Oh, god…_

Sarah trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses up his straining shaft and it gave a small, encouraging twitch in response. She watched, utterly riveted, as she studied her reflection’s every move in the glassy, smooth surface of Jareth’s conjured crystal mirror.

She was dazzled by the green-eyed siren staring back at her, shamelessly kissing her way up to the tip of her lover’s needy cock. Sarah scarcely believed that she and that bold creature were one in the same. If Kevin had been the one to coax her into acting on her sudden voyeuristic impulse, Sarah was doubtless that her nerve would have crumbled to bits at the first glimpse of herself doing something like this.

With Jareth, however, the experience was nothing short of exhilarating—a swirling mass of emotions and sensations instantly hitting her with a surge of dizzying euphoria. What was it about the Goblin King that made her suddenly dare to embrace the things she’d previously denied herself?

 _I guess the difference is sharing these kinds of things with the right person…someone you really want to show the hidden parts of yourself to…even if that someone is totally ruthless, and insane, with their coercion of said sharing,_ Sarah thought, the sudden realization making her heart kick hard inside her chest.

That was just it, wasn’t it? No matter how she sliced it or tried to deny the particulars, it would always come down to one solid fact: Jareth was her _right person_. Even if that reality was inconvenient, considering his mercurial nature and the fact that they each belonged to separate worlds. Nevertheless, it **was** her reality, come what may.

With that thought blazing at the forefront of her mind, Sarah, having reached the throbbing tip of Jareth’s cock, swirled her tongue around the reddish-purple head once again—drinking in his responding ragged gasp like ambrosia. Unable to pry her riveted gaze from the mirror, this time she didn’t delay in slipping him back inside the welcoming shelter of her mouth.

Her pussy involuntarily clenched at the undeniably spectacular sight of Jareth’s impressive length disappearing past the barrier of her eager lips, stretching them wide.

 _Holy fuck…I could so get use to this…_ She thought, wide-eyed with wonder at the unbelievably hot spectacle they made.

“Gods…move your head, darling,” Jareth encouraged breathlessly, and Sarah forgot all about her previous notion of teasing him.

Flicking a wickedly smug look up at the gorgeous, powerful king now under _her_ control, she wasted no time hollowing her cheeks and bobbing her head. Sarah’s right hand immediately moved to pump the thick base of him with firm, leisurely strokes as she sucked. High on the way Jareth’s breath hitched in a sudden gasp, she glided her hand up and down the rigid, veiny column of him.

Sarah couldn’t recall the last time she felt like she did in that moment—desired beyond all reason, craved beyond control, and… dare she think it…adored beyond measure. She stroked him upward and the tumultuous look of raw, unfiltered emotion Jareth cast down at her lit an instant lick of flame within her belly as she worked him.

Up, up, up Sarah stroked, until the side of her diligent, gripping fist brushed against her stretched lips, her entire body flushed as she did so. The Goblin King suddenly let out a sound that resided somewhere between the hazy mists of rapture and the jagged peaks of agony, and Sarah was immediately confused as to why just a sound from him would make her feel like the queen of the goddamn world…but it did. It really, **really** did.

She delivered her wordless response with action and let her hand travel back down on a slow, saliva-slickened glide—only to move back up in an almost aggressive jerk of her clutching fist. The choked noise Jareth made was just about the most satisfying reward Sarah had ever received.

She knew then that as much fun as it would have been to draw it all out a bit more, and consequently deliver some well-deserved payback, she just couldn’t seem to get enough of the small groans that were escaping Jareth’s clenched lips as Sarah slid her hand up and down…up and down. His wordless utterances of encouragement sent shivers skittering down the back of her neck, like a ghostly caress, and damn him to hell and back if she didn’t instantly want to give him more. So much more…

She wanted him to completely lose himself to the symphony of intense sensations that she was eagerly conducting—stirring within him to an inevitable fever pitch of a crescendo. She wanted Jareth to come apart crying out her name like a fervent, hoarse-voiced prayer to his Gods.

She wanted to look into his eyes as he came and see nothing but her own image taking up every last speck of reflective space within their mismatched depths. That sight would be even more riveting than watching herself service him in the mirror. Sarah was certain of it. In that moment, she wanted to seep into every pore and crevice of the Goblin King’s being, to occupy his every thought until he had no choice but to again go back on his declaration of ten years prior.

_I move the stars for no one…_

Yeah, he'd said he hadn't meant it, earlier in her room. Yet Sarah felt far from satisfied. For some peculiar reason, which irritated her like an incessant itch that refused to abate, she wanted Jareth to recant those long-ago words again and again—until he was hoarse and his voice had all but given out on him. She wanted him to choke on those words as he came, because she was beginning to understand that nevermind stars, she'd move the entire goddamn universe for him. With that thought spurring her on, she continued to enthusiastically work Jareth with her mouth and hand.

She pumped him to the rhythm of her own wildly thumping heart, twirling her tongue around his girth every now and again, and began to purposefully bob her head so he’d hit the back of her throat during every other pump of her hand. Sarah’s eyes darted back and forth like a swinging pendulum, undecided which was more exciting, looking up to bask in Jareth’s enraptured expression directly or watching herself please him in the mirror.

“Yes, love…just like that…” his voice was somewhere between a threadbare plea and a low, commanding growl.

Jareth’s hips canted forward, as he slid himself deeper, making Sarah gag just the tiniest bit. She noticed the slight tremor in his legs, in direct correlation with the mini convulsion of her throat, and boldly repeated the action. 

“So greedy you are for me, love. Look at how voraciously you take me down your throat,” he gasped, eyes blazing with desperate, dark hunger.

Sarah’s gaze once again returned to their thrillingly provocative reflections and she couldn’t help but let out a moan of appreciation around Jareth’s length. It just looked so damn good...whenever she pulled her mouth back, just enough to get an eyeful of a portion of his glistening, saliva-coated shaft before it disappeared past the barrier of her lips once again.

Was it possible to come from just looking in a mirror? Sarah was beginning to think anything was possible. Her clit throbbed in demand, with an ache so fierce it nearly rivaled the newly acquired cane stripes on her ass. She very nearly dropped her free hand to play between her thighs, but instead willed herself to resist the impulse.

She’d come several times already, Jareth having put off his own satisfaction to focus on her. She’d do the same for him. Right now, it was **all** about him. With that in mind, Sarah brought up her free hand to cup and gently fondle his balls. She quickly found that she loved the warm, smooth feel of them in her hand as she continued to pump and devour him.

Apparently, the Goblin King was also a fan of this new addition to her assault of pleasure. His entire body tensed, his breath going ragged.

“Love…you have to stop now…or else I’ll…” he panted down at her.

 _Oh, I know exactly what you’re gonna do and I want it. I want to know the taste of you fully,_ she thought as she gave an especially enthusiastic series of head bobs.

“Sarah…stop now…” Jareth tried again, on the heels of a positively tortured-sounding groan.

She grinned smugly around him, looking up and seeing his eyes scrunched closed and his jaw firmly set—as if willing himself not to finish.

_Aww…what’s the matter, Your Majesty? Am I making things difficult for you? Good. After all, fair is fair…_

“I said enough, you blasted temptress!” Jareth cried and abruptly pulled away, his cock leaving the suction of her mouth with a wet _pop._

Sarah giggled at the sour look he tossed her way, unable to resist the temptation of goading him. “Afraid to come too soon, huh? And here I thought you Fae guys might have some sort of magically enhanced recovery time or something. How disappointing,” she added and flashed him a toothy grin.

Jareth was once more a blur of speed, yanking her up by the waist and clutching her to him so that he held her, bare chest pressed to bare chest. Startled as she was, Sarah found her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. He dragged her up until her thighs aligned with his stiff, slick cock coming to rest right between the wet, inviting folds of her pussy.

She gasped at the sudden flare of pain, as Jareth gripped her tender backside with both hands. However, the ache he’d created wasn’t an intolerable one. In fact, when coupled with the positively toe-curling friction of her hips giving an involuntary grind against his, it felt pretty damn fantastic.

Her clit rubbed against the steel ridge of his cock. The dueling sensations that shot pleasure throughout her already reeling nervous system were enough to make her eyes fall shut and her head tip back in surrender.

“Oh, my dear, you cannot even begin to imagine the longevity of my stamina or just how many times I can take you before you collapse into an exhausted stupor,” his voice was dark honied wine in her ears.

Sarah cracked her eyes open to see that Jareth had leaned in, his lips mere centimeters from hers and she instantly craved them, longing to devour him.

Instead of granting her unspoken wish, he teasingly nipped at her lips. The slight sting of his sharp teeth was both a rebuke and a promise.

“Foolish little mortal, have you not already learned that it’s dangerous to challenge my kind?” He chuckled low, tilting his head to kiss and lick the side of her marked throat once again. “We children of the Underground must **always** be the victor,” Jareth murmured against her pulse.

“Not always,” Sarah retorted with a smirk, all too happy to remind him of her victory over him. Her physical need for him was still not enough to quell an even greater need to incessantly poke at him.

The Goblin King’s mouth suddenly stilled against her skin and a deep, velvety chuckle tickled the insides of her ears. The rumbling of his chest sent pleasant vibrations to her hardened nipples. Sarah’s hips instinctively bucked in response—her clit once again grinding against Jareth’s erection.

“Oh, but that’s where you are wrong, Sarah. You won a mere battle. I have won the war. As I told you earlier, you have bound yourself to me with your words,” he whispered in her ear. “You are mine, now. Forever.”

Sarah froze, as his words from earlier in the evening came back to her in a rush.

_“Besides, you just wished for me to take you away. So, like the generous soul that I am, I shall take you. I have always done as you asked, haven’t I? You are mine to keep, considering there is no one awake to challenge me for you. Such a pity.”_

How could she have let such a significant detail, like his claim to supposed permanent _ownership_ of her, slip her mind?! Then again, perhaps part of her had thought it all hot air and empty bluster. If she were being honest with herself Sarah would have to admit that another part of her, a part that was starting to rapidly dominate and consume the other, wanted the exact opposite of empty declarations.

_“You are mine to keep…”_  
_“You are mine forever…”_

But that would never work…it couldn’t work…could it? Was she completely nuts for wanting it to???

“Now, my queen,” Jareth’s husky tone smoothly sliced through the mire of her circling thoughts, “I believe there is a certain matter of you questioning my ability to recover in a timely manner. Let me assure you that your implications are completely baseless. I fully plan to show you the many, many ways I can take you over the course of the next few hours. Make no mistake, when I release into your perfect body for the first time, it will be when I’m buried to the root of my cock in your tight, welcoming cunt. But first…a change of scenery I think.”

He pulled back just enough so that Sarah could fully appreciate the sly, devilishly secretive smile that had begun to twist about his lips. It was the same sort of smile he’d given her when her gaze had locked with his in that crowded ballroom, amidst a sea of laughing, masked revelers—hungry, almost predatory, and so very unabashedly triumphant. It was enough to make every muscle in her body instantly tighten and hum with apprehension, as well as a dark, giddy thrill of excitement.

“What do you mean by that?” she asked in a murmur, finding herself both intensely anticipating and dreading his answer at the same time.

“Let’s just say, that your little request,” Jareth cast a glance at the still hovering mirror behind them, “has inspired me to show you something in my Labyrinth that you didn’t get the chance to see the last time you were there.”

“Wait, what?!” A burst of surprise shot though Sarah, mingling with a generous helping of confusion. “You want to take us to the Labyrinth? _Now?!”_

“Relax, love. You’ve trusted me so far, and has that not proven to be… _rewarding?_ ” He drawled, his eyes practically glowing with hunger.

“I…well…” Sarah tried her best to pull together a decent argument to pose against his claim yet found herself drawing a very inconvenient blank.

“Trust me once again, Sarah. You won’t regret it. I assure you,” Jareth whispered, bringing his face close to hers once more, his warm breath a sultry caress against her lips.

Sarah wanted to argue with him that where he was concerned regret was **always** a possibility, given his tendency towards knee-jerk impulses. Before she could speak, Jareth leaned in and abruptly took her mouth with his.

His kiss was a gloriously confusing contradiction of tender and forceful and Sarah found her body melting into his as their tongues spiraled around one another—her hands instinctively clutching in his wild, pale hair.

“Now, come with me…” Jareth whispered against her lips, more of a softly spoken command than a request.

Sarah scarcely had time to nod her reluctant consent before the interior of the cabin blurred around them, like a sidewalk chalk drawing dissolving in a rainstorm. Just like her previous fall down the bag portal, everything around them shifted to black, the darkness eagerly swallowing them whole.


End file.
